


Black and Silver Banners

by courtofspades



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Sirens, Slow Burn, all of this water yet everyone's still thirsty, i'll be a monkey's uncle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtofspades/pseuds/courtofspades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru could feel vibrations through the water as the young man in the rowboat shifted weight, settling into a song-induced stupor. Like a spider, he was aware of every movement of his prey simply from the vibrations on the surface that stirred the depths and the ripples that trailed along tickling his chin as he bobbed behind the crag of rock. Something stirred inside the hunter’s stomach that had been long forgotten, and that fish alone were not enough to sate. It was more than the desire for a certain favorite flavor, but a hunger for the song, the thrill of the seduction, that certain slow thud of a heartbeat. </p><p>(OR: Oikawa is a siren and Iwa is a pirate captain hunting down the renowned National Treasure with the help of some dubious characters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunter in the Shallows

The paddles of the small boat hit the quiet dawn sea with a repetitive smack as pearly wisps of cloud drifted across the sky like jellyfish. 

Kunimi squinted into the distance, across the fresh, pink-scrubbed sky and towards the horizon, where a faint thumbprint of darkness seemed to indicate some sort of rocky crag. He chanced a glance back at the ship behind him, creaking as it rocked on the gentle frill of waves in the bay. Its black flag flapped in the salty breeze, marked by a pair of crossed white swords with a crown at each hilt. He could see the turquoise banners unfurled, rippling softly from the grey and polished flanks of the pirate ship from bow to stern, a fearless display. An orchestra of ropes delicately threaded the masts and deck, and the ratlines looked like distant trails of cobwebs in the faint dawn light.

It wasn’t too far away, and Kunimi was just beginning to work up a strong tug of curiosity about the little nudge of gray in the distance. It could be nothing more than sharp slimy crag rimmed in brine and barnacles, but there was always the chance that it could present something far more interesting, like the crow’s nest of a mostly-submerged merchant vessel weighed down by untold riches. It was unlikely, but Kunimi’s gut sense had yet to disappoint him. 

His father always told him that he had an uncanny way of knowing about things that he shouldn’t. 

An oddly keen sense of direction and some kind of barometric instinct that always anticipated changes in the weather. And his father had made a game out of it, asking Kunimi every morning which way the wind was blowing. If Kunimi guessed correctly (and he always did), his father would hide an orange in the house as a treat. Kunimi always found them, he also had an uncanny way of finding lost objects, and his father had rocked with laughter at the sight of the grubby-kneed child sitting on the counter with juice running down his chin, spitting seeds into the sink. With a twinkle in his eye, he ruffled Kunimi’s hair and told him, “Just like your mother! It’s unnatural, the way you know things- it’s a good thing you’re not on the streets or you’d give the vendors a real run for their money.”

Kunimi had never known his mother. Although she had no grave for them to visit, his father often spoke of her. At every meal they lit a long blue taper under the window. Every night Kunimi’s father blew out the flame before he went to bed, although sometimes the child caught snatches of low whispers, one-sided conversations that lasted late into the night. 

That had been until the one day that Kunimi knew, like he knew about the oranges, and sometimes the weather, that his father would not return home. There was a week of waiting until the silence felt stale and the air in the house barely stirred. Then the hunger was too strong and he headed to the streets, where, as his father had predicted, he was a keen thief. He became so good at stealing that he moved up the ladder step by step, from picking pockets to robbing street vendors, and finally, sneaking aboard a merchant ship rumored to hold a priceless cargo of ivory. There he had run right into one Iwaizumi Hajime, pirate captain of the Blue Queen, who was investigating the same lead. He had been recruited- or was it coerced? right on the spot into joining the Queen’s crew. 

And now as the sky was washed with gold, he was drawing closer and closer to what looked like a disappointingly ordinary knuckle of stone, slippery with slime and drifts of foam. It was fairly large, large enough to stand out from a distance, and so conspicuous that Kunimi felt cheated. Someone must have seen it before and come to check it out, even if only to gauge the safety of anchoring in the bay overnight. But if there had been such a person, they had left not even a footprint, Kunimi noted glumly from several yards away. It was just before continuing around to the other side to make note of any other shallow formations that might seriously damage an oblivious vessel; when Kunimi paused to shade his gaze from the brilliant morning light. The sun was just rising, lacing the shimmering sea in gold as it peeked around the edge of the large shelf of rock out in the middle of the bay, which cast its dark, pulsing green shadow across the prow of Kunimi’s rowboat. 

Then, out of the gentle smack of water on the rock, and the sporadic cry of seagulls out on the point, there came a much different noise. It started off slow, a sound like the tremble of a wave about to crest, with barely any tune at all; but as it continued, the melody slowly took form. The notes seemed to draw from all around Kunimi, like he was bobbing on the ribboning eddies at the edge of a whirlpool, where the calm surface hid a writhing layer of turmoil below. Somehow the voice managed to capture the sigh of the salty wind in taut sails. It captured the deep, throbbing call of the sea in the slow, fanning ripples where the water sucked at the soft wet sand. It was almost the most beautiful thing that Kunimi had ever heard. Although somewhere, deep within his memories, where it was becoming increasingly difficult to dredge up, he thought he might have heard something even more lovely once. Once he came to this peculiar realization, he realized that the song no longer held him in its thrall. There was another force that tugged at the tides within his marrow, although he couldn’t quite pinpoint its source.

Back to his senses, Kunimi realized with a sudden jolt of his heart that there were really very few things that could be singing to him right now, none of which he had any desire to meet face to face. Although, at least his sense hadn’t been wrong. There certainly was something interesting behind this crag of rock. Maybe if he sat still for long enough and pretended to be entranced, whatever it was would come out of hiding. As for what would happen after that, Kunimi had never been much of a gambling man, but if he was going to start, he might as well do it faced with a probably malevolent supernatural force. So he sat back in his rowboat and waited.  
x

Oikawa Tooru could feel vibrations through the water as the young man in the rowboat with the solemn hair and dark eyes shifted weight, settling into a song-induced stupor. Like a spider, he was aware of every movement of his prey simply from the vibrations on the surface that stirred the depths, and the ripples that trailed along tickling his chin as he bobbed behind the crag of rock. Something stirred inside the hunter’s stomach that had been long forgotten, and that fish alone were not enough to sate. It was more than the desire for a certain favorite flavor, but a hunger for the song, the thrill of the seduction, that certain slow thud of a heartbeat. The clouds of crimson that formed beautiful plumes in the cold water.

He hadn’t come here to hunt, merely to sunbathe in peace, as he usually did, on the sloping edge of the little crag. It was so difficult to navigate the crumbling teeth of stone at the narrow end of the bay, that ships rarely set anchor there, unless they too were looking for somewhere remote to avoid notice. Most ships remained undisturbed since without the rest of his clan, it would be dangerous to take on an entire crew of humans, even as good as his song was. For this reason, he hadn’t even considered sneaking a meal until this delightful little distraction had bobbed into reach. Likely a scout, the young man would make easy prey, although taking him would mean that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to return to his sunbathing spot for a few days, just to be extra careful that no one was snooping around looking for the lost crew mate.

The siren had every confidence that his victory was assured as he slipped out around the rock and into view. He flashed a sharp-toothed grin as he took in the sight of the young sailor, slouched in his seat with a vacant expression. It had almost been too easy.

It took every ounce of self control that Kunimi possessed not to flinch in surprise when the creature came around the side of the rock for the first time. The creature did not in fact have hands like kestrel feet or leathery gray skin and teeth like needles. It didn’t even have seaweed hair, or barnacles on any part of it’s body, which was a shock. If the song wasn’t working on him, Kunimi had assumed that whatever trance that was supposed to make sirens pretty shouldn’t have been working on him either. But then there was no way that an actual siren could look so human. Or pretty, for that matter. His elegantly waved brown hair was barely even ruffled as he bowed closer to Kunimi’s rowboat, handsome face and eyes like tarnished brass slipping calculatingly into the green shadow of the rock. When he smiled with a primal mixture of curiosity and covetous hunger, Kunimi’s heart nearly stopped. He could see a tail, with sharp, ridged little silver scales the shape of shark teeth, that flashed like mirrors in the sunlight. The tail seemed to be able to move both vertically and laterally, which made him all the more dangerous. The creature’s tail fin looked surprisingly fragile compared to the lean musculature of his tail and torso, a web of nearly transparent skin, supported by willowy thin cartilage and bone.

Kunimi wondered if sirens often failed to ensnare their prey properly. He had always just assumed that all humans fell pray to the song when they heard it, but he wasn’t entranced at all anymore. He was terrified. He let his fingers wrap around the hilt of his knife. Whether by chance or fate he had sharpened it the night before. If the siren wasn’t expecting him to have retained his sanity, he might just have a chance at being the first person to actually talk to a siren, if sirens even spoke in human tongues. There was no way that he could outmaneuver it in water. He didn’t want his knife to do the talking for him, but he also didn’t want to end up as someone else’s lunch. Summoning all of his courage, Kunimi looked the siren straight in the eye.

“Hey,” he said, in a reluctant chirp.

The siren disappeared with a quiet splash before he could blink. 

Barely a ripple.

The surface was alarmingly undisturbed, glaring back the gold of the sun, so bright that it concealed any movements of the creature below. Kunimi could feel every muscle in his body tense. His mind reeled. Had he scared it away, or was it just lurking below, waiting to attack? No sound but the gentle slap of the water on his boat.

Kunimi scanned the rock once more. Barren. but before he could move, the water erupted at his starboard side in a cloud of spray as his rowboat tipped over. Dread hit him like a punch to the chest as cold water sloshed in the quickly capsizing boat. His knife slipped out of his hand as he flailed in shock, trying to escape the hungry swirl of water eddying around his chest. But if Kunimi had one advantage, it was his intuition. Relying on instinct, he wrenched one of the stray oars from where it was floating and swung it down with as much force as he could muster against the head of the creature just as it bubbled up, reaching clammy hands for his throat. The water dulled the blow too much, and it barely even phased the siren. Twisting away from its reach, hr ended up pinned against the crag of rock. It smiled mercilessly and Kunimi shivered. He grappled helplessly against the slippery stone, but his foe was far stronger. Cold, soft hands held him in place with unusual force, gasping and coughing as he struggled to keep his chin above the surface. For some reason it didn't want him dead, yet. Kunimi stopped writhing. If it wasn't going to kill him immediately, there was no point in wasting energy fighting the creature. He met its eyes again. They flashed like freshly minted coins.

Clinging awkwardly to the rock behind him and trying to keep as still as possible, chest heaving, Kunimi's foot found a place to push off of and he twisted the creature’s arm, pulling it around and smashing it back against the rock. Through some extraordinary synchronicity between his push and its shove, the creature crashed into the rock with double the force, and suddenly Kunimi’s arms were full of cold, heavy, slumped muscle. Before he could think of anything else, in case it was a bluff, he wrenched the creature’s arms behind its back. It didn’t move. Still on edge, Kunimi shoved the limp figure onto the outcropping and sat on its back while he ripped off his shirt with one arm and used it to tie the siren’s wrists. Still nothing. He tore off a sleeve and stuffed it in the siren’s slack mouth. It was certainly still breathing, but as he went to stuff its mouth he saw a faint smear of blood slicking down the side of that too-nice hair. Ah. Knocked out by a combination of its own violent force and Kunimi’s uncanny timing.

Maybe I should gamble more often, Kunimi thought dully, as he propped himself against the rock to inventory his wounds, which were surprisingly few. He was well aware, that if it had come to a fight in open water, he would have lost. But somehow, here he sat, water trickling down his chest, and only a couple of scratches, counting his heartbeats. The creature, although obviously much stronger, had lost to a fluke, and was flopped ungracefully next to him like a beached dolphin, with its tail drooping into the water. Kunimi hoped that maybe if it had come out here alone, tying it’s arms and mouth would be enough. It couldn’t leave until someone had taken the stuff out of its mouth, after all. Now all that was left was to wait for the followup scouts that would come when he didn’t return, and to pray that the tide would’t rise enough to sweep them away in the meantime.  
x

It was midmorning and the sky had faded to a starched blue. On the plus side, Oikawa was getting his sunbathing done. On the other hand, this was shaping up to be the worst day of his life. His arms were tied behind him and he was steadily weakening as the sun beat down on his back and tail. His scales glittered as he flicked his fins in the cool water. If he completely removed his tail from the water and focused, his human legs would appear and he would be able to regain most of his fighting strength. Transitioning, however, would require a huge amount of energy, enough to knock him out for another several hours, and he did not have that long. What a terrible day. 

Mouth dry, he wanted nothing more than to slip back into the water, but he wouldn't get far with his arms cinched behind his back the way that they were. To make matters worse, he could see a pair of rowboats progressing across the bay from the pirate ship. A backup team was bad news. His chances of escape would dwindle even further when they arrived. He could only hope that someone would make a mistake and give him the opportunity to flee.

It was another fifteen minutes before the pair of rowboats bumped up against the piece of rock, and in that time, Oikawa’s hope for a fortuitous accident had dwindled almost to none. These weren’t the type of people who made mistakes. He could see that based on the flintlock pistols at their sides and the cutlasses that rested along their knees, flashing the sun's reflection. They had come expecting a fight. 

Surprisingly, it seemed that the captain of the ship himself had come out on recovery. It was obvious just by the way that the man moved. As a predator himself, the siren knew the signs that accompanied a powerful body, and not just in the physical sense, although the captain was clearly a well-maintained man. Even though the other boat was leading the pair, the captain seemed to be directing the conversation of subtle glances and slight movements between himself and the two crew members, giving the siren no hint of what to expect. Oikawa smirked, cursing his luck yet again. Although he wore only the standard shirt and trousers tucked into boots, the captain’s hat was not standard at all. Three-cornered and well worn, faded from sun exposure, it was edged with silver thread and fluttering with thick white plumes. And in the cool shadow of that hat gleamed a pair of gunmetal gray eyes that locked onto Oikawa the moment that he came into focus. It was like being centered in the scope of a spyglass. Now it was the siren who felt hunted by that firm, heavy gaze.

As the other rowboat held back and helped Oikawa’s captor settle in, the captain carefully maneuvered his boat up alongside the narrow, flat palm of rock that the siren was folded across. Bracing his hands on the foam-dipped stone, the captain bent over, lowering his face to eye-level with Oikawa. With a faint huff, Oikawa met his gaze. Somehow he was reminded of shark-skin and the shadows of birds on stone. He felt a burn of fear coil behind his ribs like acid.

This was the last thought he had before the captain firmly pressed the arteries in his neck, and Oikawa felt his consciousness rapidly fading.  
x

"Okay, we have 20 seconds until he wakes up again, and I don't know if he understands our languages. Mattsun, you take Kunimi back to the Queen. When you get back onboard, call everyone below deck for an emergency meeting. Make up some shit until I get there. Send Makki to help me up with him. I'll wait until you two are on board to head back. I don't want anyone to know about this. Do you understand? This is an order: Don't say a word about the creature. I don't want the crew to panic. I'll stow him somewhere in my quarters and then head down to go over the meeting with the Black Cat as planned," Iwaizumi ordered, trying to sort the chaos of his thoughts as he spoke.

"Aye Captain!" Kunimi and Mattsukawa barked in unison.

Twenty seconds is hardly enough time to form a plan, but Iwaizumi didn't want to hurt the creature. Most crucial is that they keep the information of this from spreading. Pirates are a superstitious lot, and the presence of an angry supernatural creature with unknown power on board would be enough to alarm anyone. Iwaizumi was worried that such an event might just sew the seeds of discontent that will cost him the harmony and efficiency that his crew has down the road.

Matsukawa helped Iwaizumi sling the heavy creature into his rowboat and then left. The Captain sat in his gently rocking vessel and watched as the other rowboat slowly made its way back towards the imposing gray flank of the Queen with a sigh. What in the seven seas is he supposed to do with a siren on his ship? Although it does require an inconvenient deception, perhaps the arrival of the siren is a blessing in disguise. Sirens are rumored to have an impressive homing instinct for hidden things, as well as a predictive sense about the weather. Although Iwaizumi has yet to know of anyone who has met a siren and lived to to tell the tale, there is a seed of truth in every rumor, no matter how fantastical it may seem. Despite his misgivings, if he handles things well enough, having a siren as an ally would lend him a significant edge in the hunt for the rumored National Treasure.

Iwaizumi glanced back. The sea surrounding them was gentle as the boat bobbed over the swells of waves coming in towards the shore. Dipping delicately into the water, the siren's tail gleamed a shimmering silver. The scales scattered light in a pattern of bright spots that flickered as they moved. It's eyelashes shuddered, dark and wet against pale, faintly freckled cheeks. It's mouth curled unconsciously as its eyes opened. The pupils weren't shaped quite right, Iwaizumi noticed with an unsettling twinge. They were more like cat's eyes, or shark eyes, vertical and sharp. Surrounded by the rest of the siren's ordinary (if not unusually attractive) human features, it's eyes seemed alarmingly feral. Unreadable.

It takes a moment for the siren to regain its bearings, Iwaizumi watches as it tentatively works its mouth on the roughly-tied strip of shirt. He sees its muscles tense, testing its bound hands. Realization dawns on its face shortly after and the creature stares back up at the captain with intensity.

"Sorry about that," Iwaizumi says shortly, "Least painful way of avoiding eavesdropping."

There are a few breaths of silence and then the siren nods stiffly.

"Can you understand me?" the captain asks curiously, tilting his head to the side as he watches the siren stare at him.

Its eyes narrow and it nods again.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," the captain grumbled dryly to himself.


	2. The Stalemate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some mentions of drowning, bloodshed, and death ahead, but nothing very graphic, so be forewarned.
> 
> (That makes this chapter sound way more gloomy than it actually is.) 
> 
> ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

Back aboard the _Blue Queen_ , Oikawa could already feel the beginning of a headache buzzing behind his eyes. 

He had been locked securely away in the Captain's quarters after the Captain and one of his men had laid him in a tub full of cool water and made sure that his hands were still securely tied behind his back. It was beginning to _hurt_. Worst of all, the tub was too shallow, and they hadn't given him enough water, which was putting stress on his form. He was going to have to change soon or risk weakening further. If he reached the point that he wouldn't be able to put up a fight if he needed to, there would be no hope for freedom. He could only pray that the strategy meeting would last long enough for him to recover his strength after the change. 

But perhaps, perhaps things were looking up for him after all. The siren wasn’t sure how much these pirates knew about his kind, but they were greatly underestimating his abilities out of water. If he could time his transformation right it would be easy enough to get out of the tub and hopefully untie himself. On the downside, if he didn't time the change perfectly, they would realize their mistake in leaving him under such minimal security, and could easily overpower him and lock him away somewhere much harder to escape.

Oikawa could feel the faint prickling sensation spreading up from his waist, where smooth skin rippled into neat rows of silver scales. While the transformation from legs to tail was almost cathartic, switching from tail to legs hurt achingly. With a sigh he gritted his teeth and looked around the room, looking for a distraction from the pain that was crawling up his spine. 

Compared to the mental image of pirates that Oikawa had always held, he had to admit in terms of chivalry and good taste, the captain surpassed all. However, he was _severely_ disappointed by the lack of chests overflowing with riches. 

Instead there was a desk strewn with maps and half-empty bottles of ink. There was a basket strapped to the foot of the bed which was full of rolled up, heavily smudged canvases. The bed itself was snuggled against the wall in an ornate frame. The foot of the frame was indigo and decorated in white with a map of foreign constellations. Little faded banners were strung from the bedposts. A few nondescript chests were stacked in the corner with the desk. Visible from the small window in the far wall was a bite of gleaming sky. 

Oikawa was beginning to lose focus as he let his body sink into the magic of the transformation. The blue, blue sky trembled. Or was it the sea? Mouthwateringly bright and shaking with waves endlessly curling and crashing against the cold wet sand. A hungry ache settled in the pit of Oikawa's stomach. Was that silt sifting through his teeth? Or was it the grit of ground scales and bone?

The hunger consumed him: burning, excruciating, insatiable. The strength was sapped from his dry bones as they rattled in skin too loose and dry, rasping like paper. That shimmering wafer of sky slipped across his vision, tempting his parched tongue. 

He needed to eat.

A silhouette appeared before him, tall and firm. Blood throbbing in warm, supple flesh. Oikawa felt the ghosts of callused fingers brushing his aching raw throat. A mounting pressure built behind his ribs as he struggled to stay conscious.

The bite of sky shattered with a blinding flash of lightning and the distant growl of thunder. Hot, bitter water rose swiftly, churning and the color of tea. It filled the siren's mouth and he coughed. The silhouette plummeted heavily, like the stone statue of some forsaken idol, swallowed by the waves. Oikawa cried out, voice hoarse, tongue heavy and ashen in his mouth.

When he wakes up again, he has legs.

The siren inhales deeply. He feels a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His bones ache ever so slightly, like he's just broken a fever. Tenderly, he explores the sensation of having legs. It's been several years since he last made the switch. They feel oddly heavy and unstable, like stilts. He gently stretches one out and rests it on the rim of the tub. It feels good to move so he wiggles his toes.

But there's no time to waste getting re-accustomed, he has to get up somehow and find a way to free himself.

After a few minutes of rocking on his back (which ends up crushing his fingers and splashing water everywhere), Oikawa figures out the angle that he needs to jam his arms in order to get up. It's a good thing he's well toned from swimming day and night, because with his arms behind him and the edge of the tub in his way, sitting up is hard. Standing is considerably easier, although his knees knock as he rises. The siren flinches, he isn't used to worrying about his limbs getting tangled up and bumping into each other like this.

He steps out of the cool water and marvels at the lopsided wet footprints that he leaves on the wood floor. Each toe leaves a shimmering ghost behind as he bounces tentatively on the balls of his feet, eyes tracking around the room, searching for anything that could be useful in his escape. The light is different now, and the small room is full of dim lavender flickers, light from the waves below casting rippling reflections like spirit trails across the walls. Oikawa feels like he's looking at words in some kind of secret language; a message from the sea to him, that she is with him always, even when he is far from home. 

Momentarily comforted, the siren pads softly to the center of the room. A pirate captain should have a knife hidden somewhere, right? After finding nothing under the pillow or mattress, the siren thinks to check the desk. 

Pulling out one of the drawers, he finds a set of quills and several heavy stacks of folded letters, cross written so many times to conserve paper that they're practically illegible. But if they're in an unlocked drawer, they can't be that important, so Oikawa rifles through them. With a set of pens like that, the captain must have a quill knife somewhere. Finally, hunched sideways and scrabbling around at the bottom of the drawer, he pricks his finger on something sharp and withdraws a little, rounded blade. It's small but it's good enough for now. The siren saws urgently at his bindings. It takes excruciatingly long for the fibers to finally snap and unravel.

With a hum of delight, Oikawa rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms out, excitedly tearing the gag out of his mouth. Puckering his lips in relief, he quietly sings a few lilting notes. The song feels as sweet and syrupy as honey on his dry tongue and aching throat.

He knows that they locked the door behind them, he heard the rasp of a key turning in a heavy lock. He tries it anyway. It doesn't budge. The siren sinks on to the edge of the bed, gingerly pressing the balls of his feet onto the floor and flexing his knees. In this form he isn't even sure that he could win a fight against the captain alone, much less against multiple crew members. If it comes to fighting his way out of this situation, he will lose. Now it's time for damage control. At the least he needs something to defend himself with before anyone comes back and tries to recapture him. The last thing that he wants to do was risk the song, especially since he infuriatingly, mystifyingly failed to entrance that kid earlier, so the only option left is to resort to negotiation. 

Oikawa can only hope that the captain is smart enough to realize what a powerful ally a siren would be, but in the off chance that he isn't, it would be good to have a little extra leverage. The fact that he's being sequestered away in the captain's quarters instead of thrown in the brig most likely means that the captain is trying to keep the crew from panicking at his presence, which is a good start. But he could use more to work with.

Oikawa tries arranging his face into a stern expression as he surveys the room, "I'm a gruff, grumpy pirate captain with poor taste in hats but nice biceps-" he says thoughtfully. With a cough he tries mimicking the deep timbre of the captain's voice, "Where would I hide my super secret journal full of all of my darkest hopes and desires?"

His impression is alarmingly accurate. It's one of his _gifts_ , but a little too unsettling for the time being. 

Wandering back to the desk, he looks at the stack of letters again, looking for names or a signature. Something to match to that firm, reliable image of a man, who speaks more in subtle changes of expression than with words. He compares a signature to the fresh notes scrawled in the corner of a map of a river and thinks he's found his match. 

"Captain Iwaizumi Hajime," Oikawa says with a hum.

It's a delicious-sounding name. It has an almost lyrical quality when the siren tries neatly threading it into his song. Not for the first time, Oikawa wonders what it would have been like if he had met the Captain under other circumstances. Wonders what it could have been like to weave him an incomparable melody.

He turns back to the desk with a huff. No use crying over spilled milk. The rest of the letters are lined with uselessly cramped and indistinguishable writing, so Oikawa returns to inspecting the maps. Most of them are heavily marked in pencil with notes like "a heavy fog obscured the coast, but there was no sign of the rock shaped like an eagle," or "waited until sundown but no three fingered man all night." None of the notes made any kind of sense on their own, but they all seem to indicate missing symbols and fruitless quests. Now _that_ Oikawa could work with. With his ability to find lost objects, the siren could lead them to whatever they were looking for and then use the riches he obtained for them to buy his freedom back. 

The door rattles and Oikawa startles. The scrape and click of the key turning rings in the void of silence that fear has carved suddenly in his mind.

Oikawa has to give the man credit, he certainly has fast reflexes. Within seconds of closing the door and realizing that things are amiss, he's in a fighting stance, his pistol pointing right at Oikawa's face.

"Good evening, Iwa-chan," the siren says calmly, "Let's have a chat."

Tense, vibrating silence. Oikawa clenches his teeth. Then:

"What did you just call me?" the captain asks wonderingly.

"Why don't you point that gun somewhere else, Iwa-chan," Oikawa replies sincerely, with a sharp, relieved exhale, before smiling sweetly and adding, "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't need such a crude instrument. Although I must say, you've been _tragically_ inhospitable."

Iwaizumi is not having a good day. And to top everything else off, there is a naked man standing in his room and casually threatening him. He wonders how this day could get any worse. With a sigh he sits down at his desk, gun still resting warm and ready in his palm, eyes never leaving the siren.

"What are you?" he asks, finally.

The siren clucks his tongue, "Devastatingly handsome and deadly enough to destroy this entire ship if I must. Bad question, dear captain, you should have asked for my name. Even if I told you what I was, that wouldn't help you fight me. The name is Oikawa, incidentally."

"I don't want to fight you," Iwaizumi replies frankly, "But you leave me no choice if you try to attack my crew, Oikawa."

"Ah, that so? Well what do you want to do with me then?"

"Throw you overboard."

The siren snickers. "How rude. With a face this divine, you'd only be doing yourself a disservice."

"Anyway, what do _you_ want?" Iwaizumi asks with a roll of his eyes.

Suddenly the vapid, sparkling grin turns knife-like, as quick as the flip of a card, eyes flickering with darkness, "What do _I_ want?" Oikawa whispers with a faint laugh, "I want to _unravel_ that strong, handsome face with a murmur. I want to watch you stumble into the sea whispering my name. I want to tuck you beneath the waves so that the pull of the current snatches the bubbles from your lips. I want to see what color your blood stains the water."

Iwaizumi blinks at him for a moment with those devastating gray eyes, before snorting, "I'd like to see you try that with a bullet in your pretty mouth."

"Aha! I knew Iwa-chan was capable of recognizing true artistic beauty!" Oikawa chirps, adding blithely, "But this pretty mouth would ruin you before you could pull the trigger."

"Unless I'm immune like Kunimi, but by the time you figure that out, it'll already be too late, and you'll never be able to ensnare another hapless victim again," Iwaizumi points out with an unnerving smile.

There is a moment of silence. The stage is set for a grand encounter. If only Oikawa knew his lines. But something about the frankness of the Captain leaves him tongue-tied, and the words that are surging carelessly out of his mouth hardly seem his own.

They watch each other cautiously, like two wild dogs circling each other in a snowy valley, neither willing to be the first to make a move.

Iwaizumi stares at the siren: the pale stretch of his neck, the soft curve of those lips that spill charming words like bubbling champagne and with the same underlying bitterness. 

There is something almost artistic about the way he stands. The mask he wears to hide his true intentions is as delicately rendered as the details of an oil painting. But there is also the shape of his nose, and the rosy smudge of pink across his cheeks, which aren't calculated. The curve and bounce of his hair. The Captain's hands ache fleetingly for the comfort of a brush to transcribe this moment. For a brief but alarming moment, Oikawa is not a siren, or even a man, but a muse. 

Iwaizumi can almost smell the bitterness of paint drying stiffly across his knuckles as his callused hands map that soft skin and wicked grin on canvas. His muse would be wreathed in climbing roses that dropped tiny, fluttering yellow petals beneath his shivering eyelashes. Thorns would sketch neat red scratches into those strong arms. 

But that wasn't quite subtle enough. Perhaps a spray of baby's breaths would be better suited, tickling the tender crook of his neck, the throat beneath the angle of his chin. No... too childish... 

Little purple primroses spilling from that crooked mouth, tucked in clumsy bunches behind one ear. Decorating the ridge of his knuckles and the gaps between his fingers. Playfully scattered across his high, bright collarbones. Primroses would be perfect. Youthful, charming, but not naive.

"Well," Oikawa drawls softly, "It seems that we have reached a stalemate. What is it that people do in these situations? I never can seem to recall."

"Ah-" Iwaizumi starts, drawn from his reverie with a shudder.

Oikawa looks at him, eyes dark and curious, mouth still for once. Without the armor of his barbed smile, he seems suddenly much more feral: cautious and calculating, analyzing threats and weighing his odds.

"How about this, I'll tell you a secret, Captain Iwaizumi," he says quite seriously, "And based on the deliciously illuminating information contained within, maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm trying to crank out chapters while I can and it's still only syllabus week, hoo boy. I know this one is kind of short, but I wanted to stop where it felt natural. Anyway, thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos for the first chapter, I was seriously so overwhelmed, they totally made my week! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)ノ♡ I hope this chapter is also enjoyable to everyone!
> 
> I tried to make my formatting a little easier on the eyes this time around. Also I don't have anyone beta reading these, it's just me checking over it like 5 times, so if I miss any grammar mistakes, please let me know! 
> 
> As a fun side note, I've been trying to be period accurate with technology, so my google search history is full of weird stuff like "when were erasers invented," "history of letter openers," and "dimensions of 18th century tea chest." :D


	3. The Beginning of an Adventure

"I know what you want, and I can give it to you," Oikawa says. It's a delicate bluff. He knows that the pirates want _something_ , but he has no idea what their individual motives are. Hopefully the Captain will slip and tell him something. Verbally or otherwise. 

Indeed, the pirate's eyes flick immediately to the table with the maps.

"Treasure," the siren croons vaguely, "That one ultimate victory. Freedom."

The Captain's eyes snap back. Oikawa doesn't miss how they slip down his body, sizing him up. The siren can feel his heartbeat fluttering faintly in his throat. But what he feels isn't fear... Humans are charmingly modest. Maybe he can use that to his advantage. He steps softly closer.

"The song isn't my only talent," he says, eyes trained on Iwaizumi's face, awaiting the slightest reaction.

The Captain scowls and adjusts his grip on his pistol, eyes narrowed. Unexpectedly, an almost imperceptible ripple of emotion fleetingly crosses his face, as though he stands in the shadow of a circling hawk, waiting for it's prey to show the slightest sign of weakness. In this moment Iwaizumi knows that he's already lost the game. He feels no anger, or even fear, as he rightfully should. Instead something like excitement seems to catch in him like an unexpected current, blossoming in the cavity of his chest. Curiosity curls tenderly in the warm, wet spaces between his ribs.

Within the Captain are the memories of a child who once hunted cicadas, leaving crumbling tracks in the hot, crusty mud as he tirelessly trekked through fields and forests. His small, grubby hands trapped the rattling wings of the insects that filled the summer sky with their incessant buzz. Their blunt faces and prickly toes bumped clumsily against his palms. He was determined to learn the secrets that they hummed. And they must have known amazing things to be able to leave those dry, empty husks of themselves on all of the trees around his house. To the young Iwaizumi, who didn't know better, the cicadas seemed to hold the secret to immortality itself. For a whole summer he pursued them with relentless enthusiasm.

Although his devotion to curiosity turned elsewhere as he grew, it never faded. And now he stands here, breathing the same air as the greatest mystery he has ever faced. A creature of unfathomable knowledge. And yet before that, a man. A man with an intricate personality and emotions and memories all his own. A man with a crooked smile and the faintest of freckles splashed like drops of tea across his shoulders. Warm hands and sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. The way that Oikawa breathes is human too, as is the way his mouth moves. His teeth work over his chapped bottom lip. Peeling. Nervous. Bafflingly entrancing. As exciting as an unopened book.

_A dangerous distraction_ , the Captain reminds himself. 

He has responsibilities now. He already _has_ a goal. The National Treasure.

"Awww, Iwa-chan keeps zoning out on me. How rude," Oikawa pouts. "And I'm just getting to the good stuff. Sirens are good at finding hidden things! We're often called the guardians of the sea! If you're looking for treasure, I can lead you and your crew to it."

Iwaizumi blinks. It sounds too good to be true.

"Can you prove that?" he asks in return.

"Of course!" Oikawa chirps with more confidence than he feels. It's been a long time since he last tried to use the song in that way, and it'll be a hard sell.

"Alright. How about you find a pair of pants first…" 

Oikawa squints.

"Joking. I'll get you something. Go stand by the window, no sudden movements," Iwaizumi sighs, motioning with his pistol.

"So the grouchy captain does have a sense of humor," the siren chirps, "Well, not a very good one- but I guess with arms like those there has to be a catch."

Iwaizumi barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes (he is _not_ grouchy), and throws a bundle of clothes at Oikawa with probably more force than is strictly necessary.

"No gold-embroidered cuffs? I thought that pirate captains were supposed to be… a bit more… stylish?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Iwaizumi asks with a smile so wide that it looks vaguely threatening.

"Do you ever have anything nice to say?" Oikawa counters cheerfully.

Iwaizumi stares out of the round window that glows softly like a halo of lavender behind Oikawa's head. He tries not to pay attention to the way that the siren's collarbones shine as he drops the soft white blouse over his head. His hair is just a little ruffled as he dips to pull up the trousers. Looking away would be dangerous, Iwaizumi tells himself, but for modesty or some other more mysterious reason, he feels afraid to look directly at the other man. It's as though Oikawa possesses some kind of gravitational force that Iwaizumi fears he would be incapable of escaping once he acknowledges it. But whether he likes it or not, the Captain's orbit has already been irreversibly altered. 

Oikawa straightens up with a grin. The pants are too short and the waist is a little too wide, so they rest lower on his hips than they should. Still, he looks good.

Convincing Iwaizumi to let him sing is easier than he expected. The Captain locks him in the cabin and tells him to find a hidden chest of precious tea.

Oikawa starts with a soft, rolling hum, carefully drawing his inhales, he builds up the song with layers of complexity. He matches the Captain's voice and sends it spinning through the room in a hypnotic spiral. Closing his eyes, he follows his instinct and places his palms flat against the wall opposite the bed. His fingers find a knot in the wood. With a gentle press, it gives slightly and the siren hears a soft clicking noise. He opens his eyes suddenly and pulls aside the heavy tapestry right next to him.

A hidden door swings open and into a dark chamber. Inside, the darkness swims. There is such an absence of light within, that Oikawa's eyes seem to be inventing patterns of grainy purple in the shadows that make no sense, swirling like kaleidoscope pictures. Maybe he was a little quick to judge the Captain's tastes. A secret room was definitely cool. As long as it wasn't a death trap. Suddenly he pictured a room full of skeletons, sitting silently in the thick dust, draped in soft cobwebs and abandoned by even the rats. Waiting for him to join them as the door, as heavy as lead, swings shut, swallowing the last sliver of light. Colorful visions would parade through his mind as he slowly starved to death, his tongue coated in dust, limbs heavy and dull. Oikawa shook his head and looked back around the cabin. Seeing a candle stub on the desk, he quickly lit it and jammed it into a holder. Curls of wax crumbled onto his slightly trembling hand. Regardless of what was inside the room, adrenaline was already coursing through his blood.

He looked at the tapestry once more, examining it for any subtle hints to what it hid. Although he hadn't paid much attention to it on his first look around the room since it had been extremely faded, it was very ornate. Barely distinguishable, it primarily depicted foliage. The center of focus was dominated by the image of a naked man sitting in a bed of reeds, observing a flock of spirits with wings like doves. Weird. Definitely not helpful at all. Oikawa shoved it aside, candle extended into the dark doorway.

The small, wavering pool of light glanced off of something in the darkness. Oikawa stepped inside. There was a loud jingle beneath his foot and he jumped back with a yelp. Crouching to see what he had stepped on, the candlelight fell on a scattering of sparkling gold doubloons. Oikawa gasped. As his eyes adjusted to the light more and more of the room came into focus. Breathlessly he crept deeper inside. Chests, stacked on top of each other. There were huge bolts of shimmering silk in one corner behind a barrel full of rolls of hand-pressed paper. Silver caskets of pearls. A polished tea chest inlaid with milky jade. Clay pots full of spices. A bundle of carefully wrapped, luxurious feathers. Huge mirrors with ornate frames. Dusty sheets of velvet draped on the back wall.

Oikawa carefully picked up the box of tea and hugged it to his chest, wide eyed with awe. Never before had he seen such a concentration of human wealth, the extent of which he was not even fully aware. But then he had never been aboard another pirate ship either. He wondered why the Captain, with access to that much money, still slept in such a sparse room and wore pants with frayed hems and patched knees.

Seized by a strange stillness, like the calm before a storm, Oikawa walked back to the door, as though in a trance. He tapped on it gently, and it swung open. Guard as high as ever, the Captain entered pistol-first.

Oikawa cracked open a sparkling grin, as bright as the flashing piles of loot in the secret room, and held out the tea chest.

"Very crafty, Iwa-chan, sending me after something in a secret room. Not that it's much of a secret anymore," he said.

"So you are the real deal," Iwaizumi observed, taking the chest from him with a hum. "That or uncannily observant. Either way you'll be useful."

Oikawa tilts his head, eyes sharp, smile unnervingly unfaltering.

"Here's what I'm thinking: the story is that Kunimi found a man stranded on the rock. You're a thief who robbed your employer of a precious cargo of diamonds, which you then used to pay off a gambling debt. Now you're on the run from the Queen's Guard with a huge bounty over your head," Iwaizumi explains.

"How dramatic." Oikawa smirks.

"But a suitable explanation for the current events," Iwaizumi replies unflinchingly, "And you're notorious for quick escapes, so that's why you're staying in my room. The only room with a locking door. There's too much traffic around the brig to keep you there. I'm going to need you to stay by my side until we find the National Treasure."

"That eager to spend time with me?"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, "I'm going to tie you up and bring in Kunimi and the First Mate. I hope you understand why this is necessary… For everyone's safety. Including yours."

x

High above the sea on the yard of the _Blue Queen_ , Kunimi swayed. Far below him, the deck seemed impossibly small, like a toy. The sky was soft and cool, streaked with indigo and crimson, like shades of ink. A blustery North wind whipped by, dragging the last feathery, distant clouds below the horizon. Swirling and snapping in his loose clothes and hair, the wind rocked the young pirate, every bob of the ship intensified by his height on the mast. A chilled numbness affected Kunimi's callused hands, stubbornly clinging to the ropes as he stared fixedly at the horizon.

He let the rhythm of the ship creaking and the distant sound of waves breaking fill his mind. The stress of the day was coiled tightly in his muscles, a kind of tension that wrapped his bones, and left his lips dry and cold. Going to the rock had been a mistake. Now his Captain's safety and the fate of the _Blue Queen_ herself were all sitting precariously in the hands of a malevolent and definitely untrustworthy creature that had tried to kill him just this morning. He, along with First Mate Mattsukawa, and the cook Hanamaki, had sworn to keep the creature's true nature a secret, in order to avoid a panic among the highly-superstitious crew. But the secrecy meant that Captain Iwaizumi had to keep the siren in close proximity to himself at all times, which would be an added burden, and was hardly standard procedure in itself. 

The plan to meet with the _Black Cat_ and her Captain tomorrow to plan for getting the map to the National Treasure seemed solid enough, so Kunimi couldn't imagine why any help that the siren could offer was enough reason to merit the risks. Namely: being eaten alive. Kunimi did agree with the Captain's assessment that it would be unwise to release the siren, in case it could muster some kind of force to seek revenge on them for capturing it. But that didn't mean that the creature should be allowed to parade around under the guise of being some kind of winsome diamond thief.

Kunimi felt no resentment towards the siren (Oikawa-san) for trying to eat him. It didn't seem like a personal thing. It was more of a mixture of instinct and pure chance. He was trespassing on Oikawa's feeding grounds. Now that the circumstances have changed, however, if Oikawa dares to bring harm to the _Blue Queen_ or any of her crew, Kunimi _will_ hold the siren accountable for his actions. After all, Kunimi is the one responsible for this chain of events occurring in the first place. If only he had just ignored that uncanny instinct tugging him towards their inevitable meeting. 

He would be at peace, rocking in his hammock, or helping Hanamaki in the galley. Oikawa would be at peace, probably stuffed full of fish, and warm from a morning of sunbathing, relaxing in some dim, dark green pocket at the bottom of the bay. The Captain too would have been at peace, laughing at some bawdy story Mattsukawa was telling as they checked the lines.

But now the tide has turned, and it's pulling them all deep into uncharted territory. Although Kunimi would tend to be pessimistic about this, perhaps it's not all bad. New opportunities and adventures may await, just beyond the edge of the horizon. It's impossible to know what the future will hold, but at the very least, there's no point in regretting the past.

Feeling somewhat reinvigorated, Kunimi turns his head into the wind and lets it whip back the dark strands of his hair. He smiles gently into the gusts, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and sings a little tune. The wind eagerly snatches the notes from his mouth, and distorts them into a distant warble as it whirls through the cliffs where the gulls clamor. Stretching his fingers, Kunimi carefully hauls himself upright on the yard, toes curled firmly in the ratlines, and feeds the sky his song. 

x

The coach rattles, bouncing as it slowly navigates the bustling port. Yachi braces herself, lace glove pressed daintily against the wall as she jolts sideways. Out of the dust-speckled, slightly warped window, the wharfs are teeming with activity. A grubby pair of dogs happily duck between the wheels of Yachi's coach in pursuit of a rat that disappears into the crowd. Heaving with a life of their own, the docks are covered with people everywhere she looks; men unloading crates of cargo, mixed crowds swarming up the gangplanks. Coaches and big, heavy carts jostle to part the crowd and pull closer to the imposing flanks of massive ships. 

Unconsciously, Yachi leans closer to the window. Without realizing it, she's been holding in her breath. It's the first time that she has seen anything like this. Simultaneously terrified and excited, she clutches the pink silk of her skirts and stares outside, wide-eyed with wonder. The clip clop of her coach's horses fades into the thrumming, indistinguishable din of voices and industry. The sound seems to rumble down her throat as she breathes and through her veins with every heartbeat, filling her with vigor. She can barely wait to step out of the coach, but on another level Yachi can't help but worry that she'll end up being pick pocketed or on the wrong ship or so seasick she can barely move.

Catching sight of a purple-bodied carriage with the silver crest of the Queen's Guard flashing on its doors, she feels some of her fear dispelled. No one would risk the wrath of the Guard right under their nose. She scans the sea of people and spots the Guardsmen, bobbing above the rest on their gleaming, well kept horses. With a gasp of surprise, Yachi spots the infamous young Major Ushijima. Astride a magnificent blood bay sits the imposing young man, rumored son of the King's mistress. His medals glitter at his breast, white gloves handling the reins with practiced ease. Yachi wonders what his business is here. The last time that she had attended her main source of rumors, the opera, the gossip had been that he was adamantly pursuing the National Treasure in the hopes that finding it would redeem him at last in the eyes of the Queen. Then again, the secrets that were traded at the opera like greetings were more often than not entirely fictitious.

The spell is broken as Yachi's coach jerks back into action, and her gaze falls upon yet another captivating character.

This time it is a young woman, one of the few that Yachi has seen since arriving here. She is dressed in all black, like a mourning widow, but her collar is lined with red satin, and her veil is neatly pinned up to the brim of her hat. She twirls a black lace parasol delicately over her shoulder, and her skin is as pale as cream. Her hair, long and black, curls neatly against the statuesque curve of her neck. The young woman turns as the coach passes, and for the briefest of moments, Yachi meets her imperious gray eyes, observing the coach above a round pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.

Shocked, Yachi embarrassedly breaks eye contact, glancing towards the ground. Peeking out beneath the dusty hem of the beautiful woman's skirts are a pair of surprisingly thick, muddy, boots. Not dainty or ladylike at all. Yachi looks back up, but the coach has already rattled past, and the woman is no longer in her line of sight. For some reason, she is filled with a desperate desire to look at the woman once more, to take one last glimpse of that mysterious, sphinx-like face with the beauty mark above her soft, bowed lips. 

She feels as though she began reading some sort of strange but amazing story, only for it to end abruptly, leaving her in suspense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧
> 
> This chapter took a lot longer than I expected, since suddenly a ton of stuff irl happened all at once! Also this had a lot of setting up the foundation for other stuff, which is veeery very tricky. Anyway~ I hope this is enjoyable for everyone too! Kunimi is BACK (I love him so much), and some new characters are coming into play! Maybe things seem a little random right now, but allll willl be revealledd [jazz hands] in due time! Yachi's background is somewhat inspired by The Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, if anyone is curious. Her future will diverge quite a bit from that though of course~
> 
> I haven't had the time to check up on all of the comments yet, but to everyone who has commented/messaged me nice things you've made my day/my week/my month! Ya'll are awesome!!
> 
> hmu @starcaged on tumblr PLEASE :D  
> also if there are any mistakes, pls pls let me know~


	4. Sea of Roses

“Do your worst,” Iwaizumi says.

“Only the best for you, dear Captain,” Oikawa chirps, but his lips curl and his eyes burn dark. The expression sends an uneasy tingle down Iwaizumi’s spine. Like a demon trapped at the bottom of a well, the siren looks hungry with anticipation for the challenge. In the focus of such a shadowed gaze, the Captain feels like nothing more than some unwitting traveler, who, stumbling through the forest has subconsciously been drawn here. To his destiny. Doom or desire or both.

Oikawa is shackled to the bed, wrists and ankles rattling. Iwaizumi is attached to one of the legs of his desk, reinforced with rope so that the only way that he can move is like an inchworm. Right outside of the door, Kunimi and Hanamaki (ears plugged with wax) hold the keys. This was Iwaizumi's idea, but he's already regretting it. He needs to know exactly how much of a threat Oikawa and his song are. If the siren couldn't charm Kunimi, it's possible that he actually poses no threat at all, and they're currently engaging in a colossal waste of time. Also, with the _Black Cat_ arriving shortly after noon, Iwaizumi needs to know what his next move is going to be. Since Oikawa has already completely changed the plan, it seemed prudent at the time to gauge his strength.

Now, however…  
Iwaizumi's heartbeat is betraying him, thumping quickly in his chest. He has no idea what to expect. With no actual experience dealing with sirens, his only speculation on how this will go relies all too heavily on rumor and legends. He's heard of sirens that look like beautiful women and with enchanting words draw battleships into dangerous waters, where they smash like cantaloupes, spilling goods and men from the splintered cavity of their plundered hold. He's heard of creatures that turn into withered hags once the spell is lifted, but by that time, they are already savoring your flesh. Although Oikawa doesn't exactly seem to fit any of these descriptions, based off of Kunimi's account of their fight, he is dangerous by his own right.

Iwaizumi hates feeling so out of control. But if he wasn't restrained, there is no way of knowing whether Oikawa could make him do something dangerous like releasing the siren to escape or worse.

They stare at each other in silence. A mixture of anticipation and anxiety leave Iwaizumi feeling short of breath, with a bitter taste settling in his mouth.

Like a magician disappearing with a rustle behind dark velvet curtains, Oikawa's face has closed and his expression is unreadable. His mouth softens. His eyes are focused, but distant, staring into the empty space between them. The lack of emotion on Oikawa's face is unsettling, as though all of the obvious, exaggerated expressions he makes are all nothing more than a subtle sleight of hand, delicately designed to draw attention away from the truth. What that truth is, however, Iwaizumi has yet to catch more than a glimpse of. This moment, with the facade peeled away, seems intimate in a way that leaves Iwaizumi terrified of the havoc that Oikawa is preparing to inflict on his mind.

Oikawa looks up. Their eyes meet.

The siren opens his mouth.

Iwaizumi exhales and a full minute passes before he remembers to breath again. Oikawa starts small. A hum in the back of his throat that turns into a single, piercing note that drives the air from Iwaizumi's chest. His ribs close around his lungs and heart like a cage and he forgets to inhale until, suddenly, with an explosion of need, he gasps for breath. It's a beautiful sound. Already the Captain can feel the tension in his limbs flowing away. He puts up a brief but fruitless fight against the cathartic sense of peace that infects his mind. With a grimace he grinds his fingernails into his palm and tastes blood as he bites the inside of his cheek. But how could something so beautiful possibly be bad? Had he really compared Oikawa to a demon earlier?

Oikawa pushes with his voice, adds a layer of depth. A light trill that tumbles perfectly from his chapped lips. Iwaizumi's resolve wears away like a sandcastle swept into the sea. With a playful tune, the siren gently coaxes down the barriers. His voice promises sweet-smelling breezes and flowering trees and peace. He leads Iwaizumi out of his state of resistance.

It feels like being in a happy dream. And then, his prey vulnerable and open-minded, Oikawa strikes.

Having scrubbed Iwaizumi's consciousness of his current fleeting concerns, leaving him in a blissfully quiet state of calm, Oikawa weaves in extra layers. The new voices become a chorus, rising higher and higher, babbling aimlessly, until suddenly the song twists, snapping into one coherent tune and crashes. For Iwaizumi's complacent mind, it's agony. The peace is torn away and replaced by a raw, grating, visceral sound that vibrates in his bones. Suddenly he is aware of his own heartbeat, throbbing in his throat and chest. He can _feel_ the song, within him and without. The cacophony of sound of a crashing ship. Someone sobbing as the sea grinds wood against jagged stone. Gunshots popping in the hazy summer air. Unfamiliar. Someone else's terror. His blood burns in his veins, bitter and briny like stagnant water. His mouth opens unbidden in a sob.

Suddenly the onslaught recedes, like water before a tidal wave. Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi gasps, rocking against his bindings. The rope creaks. The cycle of the song has almost reached its peak. Although Oikawa himself never _exactly_ knows what form his song will take, it always follows a certain progression of stages. The first is simple. Cleansing and meditative, it tames the swirling chaos of thoughts, leaving the mind open and vulnerable to the devastation of the second stage: pain. Brief but excruciating, this second stage tests the mind's mettle, exploiting the prey's weaknesses to swiftly disassemble their defenses. As the waves of pain subside, the third phase begins. Oikawa's personal favorite, although his specialty is leveling his prey with pure, agonizing sorrow. After all, without pain there would be no pleasure.

Relief alone leaves Iwaizumi trembling from head to toe. Oikawa lets the pain ebb back to nothing before the song dips an octave with a reverberating echo. He laces each note with new sensations. Hope and desire. 

The song washes over Iwaizumi with the welcome comfort of a soft touch. A kind gesture. The chorus of voices fluctuates and picks up a quick rhythm like drums. Now the tune becomes teasing, a faint tickle tempting his lips to curl into a laugh. But when the song hits him again, it strikes elsewhere.

He gasps and his eyes fly open.  
Looking around, he is knee deep in a placid sea of roses. As he moves, swirling drifts of pink petals curl around his thighs. The water is pleasantly warm, the sky a vaulted dome of dusky blue, dotted with puffy pink clouds that dissipate and reform lazily as Iwaizumi stares at them at length. It's just dark enough for him to actually see the stars up there, shining softly, like the gleam of icebergs just beyond the curve of the horizon, distant but massive. The sun is low and orange in the sky, just dipping below the horizon, trailing a warm golden haze in its wake. Without warning, however, his chest aches and he groans, sinking to his knees. The roses bob as the water ripples, twirling and bumping against his chest. Underwater, Iwaizumi flinches as their long, sharp stems tap his arms, like the fingers of small, malevolent creatures, concealing hungry grins beneath the reflective surface.

Suddenly he remembers Oikawa, and feels lonely. Weren't they supposed to be doing something? Where is he? Where is anyone?

With the sun behind his back, he turns in the water and begins to trek north, following the distant gleam of Polaris, twinkling in the deep blue sky. Leaving a trail of disturbances among the roses as he passes, he sets off towards the horizon.

He hasn't gone far when he hears the faintest sound. A voice? Someone calling out in the distance. He notices a human shape, pale skin shining faint and gold in the colorful evening light. The person is too far away to make out, but Iwaizumi feels a surge of relief, joy filling him as he bounces forward with renewed vigor, calling and waving to the stranger himself. An odd hum seems to fill the sky. An enchanting tune that increases in volume as he draws closer. As he approaches further, he sees that the person is in fact Oikawa.

Weren't they supposed to be doing something?

Iwaizumi splashes closer, scowling, but stops short. Oikawa beams at him radiantly. Roses twist around his waist and wrists. 

"You kept me waiting, Captain," he says simply.

His arms are open, as though he is waiting for an embrace. Iwaizumi frowns and steps closer. Just out of reach. The white cotton of Oikawa's trousers sticks, translucent and wet, to his skin. His lips are no longer chapped, but as pink as the petals scattered around them, sticking to their damp bodies. His eyes sparkle, dark polished copper. Iwaizumi feels something hot and heavy twist in his stomach. Desire. Looping coils of desire squeeze tight around his spine. He shivers suddenly. His shirt, still soaked, chills his skin in the evening air.

Weren't they supposed to be doing something? Iwaizumi can't remember what it was.

Oikawa's arms are still open. Iwaizumi steps into them. He feels warm. But nervous. Like there's some instinctive trace of fear still fighting at the fringes of his consciousness.

He wraps his arms around Oikawa, feels the siren's muscles curl damply beneath his arms.

"It's okay," Oikawa says, voice soft, and presses his lips to Iwaizumi's collarbone.

Instinct abandons him and he hungrily knots his fingers in Oikawa's hair and pulls. A soft gasp. He presses their lips together, but feels nothing. Iwaizumi opens his eyes and his wrists hurt excruciatingly, cuffed to the leg of the table, which is now snapped sharply in half. Splinters of wood and paint dust the floor, which is now littered with all of the maps and papers that were on the desk. Disoriented and confused, he frantically looks around the room, chest heaving. Oikawa is staring at him with a mixture of awe and amusement from his place against the bedpost. Still secure, no longer singing.

"I think that's enough," Oikawa says, somewhat breathlessly, "You broke the table trying to stand."

"What? What _was_ that?" The Captain demands, still tense, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Oikawa tilts his head curiously. "I don't know. The song affects everyone differently. But it never fails without reason. Not mine, at least. What did you see?"

Iwaizumi glares at him, trembling as he sinks back onto the floor, but the siren doesn't seem to be deliberately acting coy. Genuine curiosity is on his face… which means… that what Iwaizumi saw…

"Why should I tell you?" Iwaizumi snaps,.

"You're supposed to see what you currently desire the most. Comfort, wealth, companionship, or something like that. If you tell me, I can help you " Oikawa replies.

Iwaizumi glares at him in silence, and Oikawa pouts. It's a strangely endearing expression. Iwaizumi feels a brief stab of something like regret and sighs heavily.

"KUNIMI!" he shouts, and the door opens.

Kunimi frowns in dismay at the sight of the broken desk, but Makki looks unfazed as he walks over to free the Captain.

"You must be quite the songbird," the chef comments calmly, as he pops the cuffs off of Iwaizumi's ankles.

"What can I say, I'm good at what I do," Oikawa smirks over Kunimi's shoulder.

"Except for that time that you failed," Kunimi reminds him flatly and Makki snorts.

Iwaizumi is too rattled to laugh, but he smiles appreciatively at the young deck-hand's frankness. Filled with a surge of gratitude, he remembers the day that he first met Kunimi, curled in the cargo hold of a ship carrying a priceless amount of ivory. Tucked away without a plan, and only the rats to keep him company, it had been a foolish mission. Still, Iwaizumi was so impressed that Kunimi had managed to hide himself on one of the route's most heavily guarded ships, he had offered the young man a job on the spot. Working together they had smuggled out a quarter of the ivory for themselves when the ship next reached port. It had been the haul of a lifetime, in more than goods.

Since his installment on board the _Blue Queen_ , Kunimi has proved his worth time and time again. His instinct for danger, and ability to efficiently come up with solutions, make him an important member of the crew, despite the fact that he regularly sleeps too late and eats a disproportionate amount of Makki's weird food.

Now Iwaizumi is especially glad that Kunimi at least is his last defense against Oikawa's powerful voice. Putting so much responsibility on a kid makes the Captain worried, but at least Kunimi is level headed and reliable.

Later, Iwaizumi stands on deck, the ropes creaking as the boat shifts, and crosses his arms as he stares out across the sea. Makki stands on his port side, one elbow on Mattsun's shoulder to take the weight off of his wooden leg, and chews on a crust of hard tack. Kunimi and Oikawa are visible through the open door to the Captain's cabin, cleaning up all of the crumpled maps and splintered wood.

"So," Mattsukawa says, breaking the companionable silence, "He's got a dangerous voice after all."

Iwaizumi nods grimly, "That seems to be the case. It wasn't a bluff after all. And on top of that the _Black Cat_ and her crew should be arriving any minute now to discuss the plan. Heaven knows, one loose cannon is enough, but I trust that smirking devil, Kuroo about as far as I can throw him, so who knows what's up his sleeve."

"Hopefully a map that leads directly to the National Treasure," Makki comments with a wry chuckle, "And some fresh provisions. Our crackers are as hard as stone and taste like mildew."

"Well, they're hosting dinner tonight, so I should think they would," Iwaizumi says, cracking a grin, "I hope their cook will be capable of satisfying such a refined palate."

Makki rolls his eyes.

"Captain! We've finished cleaning up the mess!" Kunimi calls from behind, and Mattukawa notices Iwaizumi flinch at the sound of Oikawa's soft tread approaching them from behind.

Iwaizumi stares stubbornly ahead at Yahaba, who is sitting cross legged and barefoot in the sun on the forecastle, repairing the main mast. Kunimi cuts in front of the group and stands at attention, while Oikawa stands with forced nonchalance at a distance.

"Well, I have things to do- navigating or something, right Mattsun?" Makki announces dryly.

"Right," Mattsukawa concurs, "And I have-"

"Charting!"

"That's right, I have charting to do, based off of Kunimi's reports of the bay! As ship cartographer, I'd like to borrow him for a while, if it pleases you Captain," the first mate agrees, nodding at Iwaizumi.

Refraining with some difficulty from scowling, Iwaizumi nods. "Very well."

The three sailors hastily make their retreat below deck.

"We should talk," Iwaizumi says flatly. Although he knows that his crew are just trying to help him sort things out, that doesn't make their childish behavior any less annoying.

"Gladly, Iwa-chan," Oikawa replies.

Peeved, Iwaizumi replies, "You should call me Captain," although the words taste bitter in his mouth, like black coffee, or something burnt. It's something that he should have said the first time that Oikawa called him such a ridiculous name, but the fact that he's saying it now, gives it even more gravity. It's too familiar for a nickname between two strangers. It's too familiar for Iwaizumi to reconcile the fact that he actually feels a little happy whenever he hears Oikawa say it.

Oikawa's smile falters for a fraction of a second before he hitches it back up. This time however, it's stretched into something as fake as fool's gold. Even though Iwaizumi knows that it shouldn't affect him at all, he can't help wanting to apologize. He wants to apologize for everything that's happened since they met. He wants to apologize for not trusting Oikawa, even though he's sure that Oikawa doesn't trust him either. Somehow he wonders if it wouldn't have been better if they had met some other way. The Captain invisions himself walking barefoot across damp sand, feet sucked down with every step, admiring the shells that have been washed up by the tide. He imagines a rock, and behind that rock, a man that is half fish, tangled in a net, with scales that flash a brighter silver than any treasure Iwaizumi has ever seen. He imagines himself with the same mixture of fear and excitement, but without the responsibilities that he has now.

He blinks and Oikawa is staring at him, mouth pressed into a tight, polite little grin, and Iwaizumi wonders _what the hell is it about this idiot_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowww burrrnnnn. Okay, things are finally gonna happen next chapter so look forward to that! Also school should be chilling out about now, so I'll have lots more time to write! 
> 
> Sorry for the tease, but it would have been a total cop out if their first kiss was imaginary-  
> Anyway, please tell me what you think! You guys are awesome I'm so honored and amazed by everyone who has read this! <333 Thank you for sticking with me!! :D
> 
> (as usual hmu if you see mistakes)


	5. Feast of the Black Cat

Iwaizumi hates the way that Oikawa wields his smile like a weapon. Now more than ever, he is struck by how false it is, and wonders what form a more sincere expression would take on Oikawa’s face. Ever since their conversation after the song, it seems as though they’ve been dancing around each other in some tense battle of wills. Every word that drops out of Iwaizumi’s mouth has felt wrong, like discordant notes. He finds himself falling further out of tune. It is a feeling that he is unused to. He hates it. Can’t help but worry that he’s only making things worse. 

Oikawa offers him no reassurance as they stand in the Captain’s cabin, alone again, bright threads of light flash between them, reflections from the noonday sun striking the bay. Iwaizumi needs to dress himself properly for his meeting with the captain of the _Black Cat_. But he already feels uncomfortably bare around Oikawa, who sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes as cold as the atmosphere, and his smile as sharp as broken glass. 

“Are you going to change, _Captain_ Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks blithely, “Or are you worried that no matter what you wear, you’ll be upstaged by me?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” Iwaizumi replies.

“You told me call you Captain, _Captain_ Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says with a smirk.

Iwaizumi looks at him. Oikawa’s smirk is a challenge. And Iwaizumi is not about to lose _whatever this is_ to some idiot with nice hair and perfect teeth. Still considering the best method to put Oikawa in his place, Iwaizumi stands beneath the window and opens one of his chests of clothes. He quickly pulls out his neatly arranged set of formalwear and gets to work before he can think any further about what he’s doing. Ignores Oikawa’s little snort of annoyance when he refuses to continue their conversation in favor of shucking his boots. 

He’s just pulling on his pair of standard issue white stockings when he hears the siren make a noise, but when he looks up, Oikawa is studiously staring at the tapestry concealing the hidden door. His voice cracks slightly when he next speaks, which strikes Iwaizumi as odd for a siren.

“What an interesting piece,” Oikawa says quickly, but it comes out in a startled jumble and Iwaizumi knows that something must be wrong.  
He looks up in concern, but Oikawa refuses to look in his direction, continuing to stare stubbornly at the tapestry as though he is attempting to distinguish some kind of secret code from the composition.

“He looks like you,” Oikawa says, pointing vaguely towards the naked man sitting in a bed of reeds, although since the man’s face is contorted with the kind of wistful expression that Iwaizumi hopes has never touched his face, so he isn’t really sure how the comparison applies.

“Always wanting that which you cannot have,” Oikawa clarifies, although he sounds distant, and there is a solemn ache to his words.

Iwaizumi looks at the siren for a long moment, and wonders. Pulls on his breeches and pulls off his work shirt. He tips his head just a fraction to the side, because there’s no way that Oikawa could know such things about him, siren or not. Which means…

“But who is it that dictates that which I can and cannot have?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa snaps around to look at him at last.

Oikawa is talking about himself.

“The world,” he replies vehemently, with a touch of desperation, “No matter how hard you try, some things will never be yours!”

“I don’t believe that,” Iwaizumi says sincerely. He seeks out Oikawa’s gaze, but the siren won’t make eye contact with him.

“Humans are full of such persistent, naive hope,” Oikawa replies with a strained smile, “Tell me Captain, can you fly? Touch the stars or the sun?”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says firmly, and the siren stops and stares, “Do you know why I became a pirate? Because I’m not afraid to break the rules to do what I love and support my family. If rules exist, they can be broken. Sometimes all that you need is a change in perspective.”

“So your grand insight is to _try harder_?” Oikawa snaps, his smile finally breaking, “Let me tell you _Captain_ , sometimes trying hard isn’t enough! I’ve tried as hard as I could at times and I’ve _lost_ people!! I’ve already grieved for them, and myself, so don’t tell me if I had just _tried harder_ , I could have changed things!”

Iwaizumi stares at him in silence, and their eyes meet. For a minute he is spinning, dizzy in a copper sea, and the siren’s eyes are like whirlpools that he can’t escape. He loses his breath. Oikawa’s expression suddenly softens.

“I’m sorry Iwa-chan. I-I shouldn’t have mentioned that, you didn’t know. It was just a difference of opinions and I shouldn’t have made it personal,” Oikawa says sincerely.

Iwaizumi feels too shocked to move, “What is it that you want?”

Oikawa laughs lightly. “What makes you think that you can ask me what I want, when you won’t tell me the same of yourself? Besides, I’ve already said,” he adds with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “I want to sing to you, remember?”

Their moment of honesty past, Oikawa looks away again, and Iwaizumi is left with a cool twist of unease curling in his stomach. He notices that the flickering reflections have stopped dancing across the room, the sun obscured by a bank of fluffy white clouds sweeping in from the horizon. Without further ado, the Captain pulls on a lavender waistcoat, heavily embroidered with silver thread in ornate, floral patterns. Then he settles himself into his bright white silk coat, matching his breeches, and adjusts his cuffs and cravat. The finishing touch is his hat, edged in silver, which he adjusts on his head with a firm and unwavering confidence that implies it’s long history of use and familiarity.

“Now for you!” He calls, jabbing an accusatory finger at Oikawa, “I didn’t have any time to pick out anything for you beforehand, on account of you being an uninvited guest, so whatever you end up wearing might end up looking a bit cobbled together, but no one on my ship is going to appear in front of Kuroo Tetsurou looking like anything less than an heir. The man dresses like a bloody bird of paradise.”

Oikawa starts and looks up at him with wide eyes, before he settles into a wide grin. “That sounds like a challenge! I naturally look good in anything, don’t worry Iwa-chan!”

It takes some difficulty for Iwaizumi to resist the urge to give Oikawa the worst clothes that he owns. In the end, he steps out on deck looking admittedly dazzling in white waistcoat and breeches, lined with gold and a bright blue velvet coat with sweeping cuffs and ivory buttons. 

They stand at the railing gazing out across the bay with the rest of the _Blue Queen’s_ crew as the _Black Cat_ pulls into view. The ship is painted dark, with red flags flapping from the bowsprit. The big, bright sails sagg as its momentum slows. Standing at the forecastle is a small figure with an enormous hat, dressed in crimson. 

“That’ll be him,” Iwaizumi mutters to Oikawa, who stands at his elbow, staring with poorly disguised awe at the new arrival. The siren’s eyes flicker to the bank of clouds that chase the _Black Cat_ across the bay and he suppresses a sudden shiver.

“Do you feel that?” He asks uneasily, “The wind’s turned. Now it’s coming in from the northeast. There’s a bad storm brewing.”

Oikawa looks towards the shore, where thick forests climb the rocky hills up to a distant peak, capped and shining with snow. The mountain is still bathed in midday sun, but the shadows across the bay are muted by the encroaching front. The surface is ruffled by a cold, clipping breeze, and the siren sees the fronds of palms on the beach begin to dance. On Oikawa’s other side, Mattsukawa glances curiously at him. As the _Blue Queen’s_ navigator, he must be aware of it too. It’s the calm before the storm.

Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa and frowns, but is clearly too distracted by the arrival of the new ship to pay much heed to the siren’s vague warnings. Oikawa gives out a petulant huff of breath and pouts. With a burst of laughter, Mattsun turns away to wave greetings to the crew on board the _Black Cat_. For now the storm is a worry for another day. Tensions are high and festivities await.

Kuroo Tetsurou looms before them, with a hat large enough to cook soup in, possibly a ploy to distract from his extremely ruffled hair, or perhaps merely an attempt to further exaggerate his height. His quartermaster stands to his right, and the navigator to his left. Both are much shorter than him. The navigator is oddly dressed in what appears to be a loose, white gown, which swirls in the wind around his pale legs. He wears a heavy red silk robe on top, hemmed in silver, and has keen, catlike eyes, which flicker gold, like the fish at the bottom of a pond. His gaze flashes across the entirety of the _Blue Queen’s_ crew in silence. Something about him makes Oikawa feel uneasy. His eyes are fueled with the same unwavering flame of bright hot hunger as sirens are. He watches the crew like a wolf counting sheep, looking for the weakest link. When he meets Oikawa’s eyes, they lock for a moment, Oikawa wearing an uncharacteristic faint frown.

“Captain, it’s been a while,” Kuroo grins, stepping forward to shake Iwaizumi’s hand, “I’m sure you remember Yaku and Kenma.”

At the sound of his name, Kenma looks away and nods briefly at Iwaizumi. After his introduction he retreats quickly below deck, but not without one last, piercing look at Oikawa.

“It seems you have a few fresh faces in the mix,” Kuroo says, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be the sort to pick up a fop!”

Oikawa hitches up his worst smile and Iwaizumi flinches.

“I wonder with a hat like that if you aren’t overcompensating for something,” Oikawa quips and Iwaizumi snarls at him, clearly more interested in keeping the peace than payback. But Oikawa isn’t one to take an insult.

“I’ll have you know it’s all proportional,” Kuroo replies quickly with a wink and a curious smile, “Apologies, I didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers, just testing the waters. You do have considerably nicer hair than the rest of Iwaizumi’s crew, so I wondered.”

Somewhere behind them, Yahaba scowls indignantly.

Oikawa, still smarting, can’t help but ask, “What would you know about nice hair?”

Kuroo laughs somewhat sheepishly, and his quartermaster Yaku rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Shall we go below for some food, Captain Iwaizumi?”

“It would be our pleasure,” Iwaizumi nods, “I hope your cook is well equipped, we’ve been surviving off of mostly salt and hardtack for the past two weeks.”

“We just passed by a port to pick up fresh provisions, so I expect that Kai has whipped up a masterpiece of a meal,” Yaku replies.

Yaku wasn’t exaggerating.

They stumbled into the dim belly of the ship, dizzied by the sudden absence of bright light reflecting from the sea. The lantern light flickered as flames guttered from the sudden movement of air through the room, coughing thin streams of soot. The table at the center of the room was laden. In Kuroo’s typical extravagant fashion, it was entirely obscured by giant platters of food. An entire hog was stretched across the table as a centerpiece, dripping oil onto the knife-scarred, slightly singed surface. There were stuffed ducks; bowls of light, soft crackers; candied plums; and huge blocks of salty, crumbling cheese.

“I won’t ask where you got the money,” Iwaizumi said in a voice of awe, grinning at the other captain.

Kuroo responded with a roguish wink, the effects of which were slightly ruined as he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, “And it’s all seasoned with the best of the smuggled spices, my dear Captain!”

In a lower voice he added, “I hope this assures you somewhat of our investment towards this cooperative effort.”

Oikawa watched curiously the crew of the _Blue Queen_ shuffled around the table, awaiting their Captain’s orders with rapt attention towards the feast laid out before them. Some of the _Black Cat’s_ men are beginning to mingle, exchanging greetings, but Oikawa sees no sign of the navigator from earlier, which seems suspicious.

He remembers Kenma’s cool, impassive face, like a mask staring up from the bottom of a cold, mountain stream, unmoved by the rippling current. The swirl of his oddly colored hair against creamy skin as the wind twirled around his face. Those eyes, flashing like something buried deep in sand seeing sunlight for the first time in many years, as chipped shells are brushed away by muddy fingers. Animal-like, instinctive eyes. Inhuman eyes. Oikawa drums his fingers on his crossed arms, impatient to break away from the crowd to explore. But he can’t. Not yet. not with Iwa-chan at his elbow no matter where he turns. He is worried for his Captain. _His_ Captain? Oikawa frowns and sneaks a glance at the profile of Iwaizumi’s face.

Negotiations will come later, for now the Captain talks animatedly with Kuroo. He has a habit of gesturing with his hands when he talks. The soft white plumes on his hat bob as he moves, drooping a fringe of silky threads onto his shoulders, stretching his pristine coat tight across a muscular back. Oikawa’s eyes follow the neatly-stitched line of silver thread embroidering the collar to Iwaizumi’s neck. Imagines the warm, steady pulse of sticky blood flowing through hard muscle as the Captain swallows in between words. His adam’s apple bobs. Oikawa feels hungry. But unsettlingly, not for the taste of flesh, but Iwaizumi’s face as he was hit by the song haunted the siren. His jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his chin, his eyes soft in the middle of an agonized expression. And then the hunger. A desire to rival Oikawa’s own had unraveled across Iwaizumi’s face. His mouth fell open, his breathing ragged as he had strained against his binds. He stood with enough force to break the table leg that he had been tied to.

Oikawa wonders not for the first time, with a desperate, burning curiosity, what it was that Iwaizumi saw.

“All right, shall we cut in?” Iwaizumi asks Kuroo.

Kuroo nods with a flourish, “Just don’t forget your rum!”

The room erupts into rowdy cheers as the combined crews of the two ships descend on the food. Oikawa sinks down onto the bench, sandwiched in between Yahaba and Iwaizumi. The seating arrangements are tight. Iwaizumi is close against Oikawa’s side, his every move presses their thighs closer together, and he can feel the sharp edge of the Captain’s hip against his, and his coat as it rustles between them. Just to distract himself, Oikawa digs into one of the loaves of bread. Oil drips down his fingers as he stacks a crumbling slice of cheese on top and takes a bite. The food is undeniably good, although he misses the satisfying sensation of the blood of his prey (fish or human) pumping hot with energy into his mouth. Dipping his bread into a marmalade, he licks his free fingers. At his side, Iwaizumi takes a lengthy swig from a dusty glass bottle. Rum.

Across the table from them, Kuroo watches with some curiosity as he bites down on a drumstick. He catches Oikawa’s eyes and blinks slowly, catlike. 

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asks politely.

“Certainly, Kuroo-chan,” Oikawa replies, hitching his face face into a smile, that Iwaizumi clearly does not appreciate, judging by the elbow that he is currently digging into Oikawa’s ribs. “It is an honor to dine at your table, I’m sure. Complements to the chef!” the siren adds with a chirp as Iwaizumi hits a ticklish spot.

Iwaizumi removes his elbow and gives Oikawa a tired look, before suddenly getting to his feet and lifting the bottle of rum. 

Clearing his throat he announces, with a glance at Kuroo, “I’d like to suggest a toast.”

The benches scrape and there is a loud clatter as everyone rises to their feet, lifting roughly hewn cups and unfinished ribs of pork alike.

“To the crew of the _Black Cat_ and this spectacular feast, may this be the first step of many towards a fruitful alliance for us both, and another leap forward in our mutual pursuit of the National Treasure!” Iwaizumi says.

Kuroo grins, “Here here!”

The crews cheer, and Iwaizumi clinks glasses with Kuroo.

“Once you’re done eating, I suggest we have a chat in my office,” Kuroo says once everyone has settled down.

“Oikawa will be coming with me, I hope you have no objections,” Iwaizumi hastily replies, “He is, after all, um, a man of many talents which I think would prove useful to our discussion.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow.

“Also, he’s a terrible drunk, you know how it is, hasn’t quite got his sea legs beneath him yet so he stumbles around smelling like a boar and getting sick everywhere. I wouldn’t want your crew to have to put up with him,” Iwaizumi adds, ignoring Oikawa’s horrified expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm SO SORRY. my computer broke and i totally had to erase my HD and reinstall everything then I FORGOT how to WRITE? i guess? Anyway i love you guys thanks for sticking with me! I tried to crank this out pretty quick so lmk if there are issues! Kinda considering drawing some references for them if anyone's interested in that! 
> 
> i mean... iwa in stockings? ok..
> 
> EDIT: I HECKED UP but it's fixed now.


	6. The Storm Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (maybe the real National Treasure is the friends they've made along the way)

The two caravels leave the bay under cover of darkness. They skirt the coast which is satin black, trimmed in lacy white as waves break on the dark sand beaches. Clouds spill across the sky, devouring the stars with urgency, and the moon is nothing more than a ghostly crescent, tipped behind a thin strip of haze. The wind has picked up again, and as they carefully navigate the shallow waters, the forest emits a low, anxious murmur. The only sounds are those of the steadily crashing waves, and the leaves rustling. No night birds. None of the throbbing buzz of cicadas. They too must be preparing for the storm. Oikawa stands at the railing of the _Black Cat_ and feels a twinge of loneliness as his familiar sunbathing spot is swallowed into the inky night. The masts rattle behind him, with sailors climbing up and down the ratlines as they frequently adjust their course towards the Black River Delta, where their target awaits. Iwaizumi and Kuroo are much further down the opposite rail, washed in the dim, dancing light of a lantern and staring out across the wide expanses of dark, shimmering sea that spreads out before them, mysterious and incomprehensible. Oikawa knows that theirs is only one of many secrets that the ocean bears tonight. The secret of two small ships creeping quietly towards a dangerous encounter.

Suddenly Oikawa senses movement in the darkness behind him. Turning around, his eyes focus on Kenma, who appears to lazily materialize out of the shadows. His bare feet are silent on the deck, and his long, pale legs still wrapped in fluttering skirts. Oikawa notices that his arms are full of something dark and quiet and _alive_. A black cat. They have matching eyes, like lanterns. Like the dim lights in a single window of an old, empty house. Kenma is frowning.

“Isn’t it bad luck to have a cat on a ship?” Oikawa asks with an uneasy smile.

“Isn’t it worse to have a siren?” Kenma replies gravely, “Oikawa Tooru.”

A mixture of cold fingers, a burning in his chest, and a pounding in his ears render the siren momentarily speechless. He hasn’t told anyone his full name yet. Not even his Captain. Full names have power, especially one as infamous as Oikawa’s. He glances nervously to where Iwaizumi and Kuroo are pointing towards something far along the horizon, where a faint, briny spray of stars still glitter at the edge of the sky.

“How do you know who I am?” Oikawa asks. The cat in Kenma’s arms begins to purr as he gently tucks long, slender fingers under its neck to scratch its chin.

“Who among us doesn’t know you? Although I must say, I’m surprised. I never would have expected you to go as far as hiding among the humans. Not after what they did to her-”

“ _Don’t say her name!_ ” Oikawa snaps vehemently, “Don’t talk about her. And what do you mean among _us_? Just who are you?”

Kenma gives him an unnerving, close-lipped smile, “Us: the tribe of the sea. I wasn’t born with two legs either, Oikawa-san. But that doesn’t matter. I only want to impart a warning. I don’t know your motives for being here, but if you harm anyone on this ship, I’ll personally ensure that you will never sing again.”

“Why does everyone always assume the worst about me? I assure you, Kenma-chan, I have no interest in any of your men. Or, heavens-forbid, your feline companion. I have stakes in this whole treasure business now, just as much as anyone else here.”

Oikawa’s gaze trails reluctantly to Iwaizumi’s back. Right at that moment Iwaizumi turns around and flashes Oikawa a brief grin before returning to his conversation.

“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. He must be drunk,” Oikawa grumbles dryly, more annoyed that Iwa doesn’t smile at him more when he’s sober than at his apparent inebriation.

Kenma blinks. “I’m glad to know that you’re alive and healthy after all,” he says, scratching between the cat’s ears, “I’m going below before things get rough, as should you. Good night, Oikawa-san.”

At that, the navigator turns on his heel and retreats, the wind tangling in his hair as he descends back below deck.

Oikawa sighs heavily. He should have known. Of course his story must have spread in trails of excited bubbles, from one sharp-toothed mouth to the next, deep below the surface. A warning tale for the next generation, _never disobey your fate_. He imagines a cluster of excited fries, their short, clumsy tails curled around rock as they gather around an outcropping to listen to their parents’ story. It’s got all of the best elements, betrayal, rebellion, all at a heavy cost. Everything except a happy ending.

Oikawa has yet to prove it worth his while. And he will. After the sacrifice his best friend made, he will have his happy ending if he has to march across deserts and through forests to find it. Shaking himself off, he heads back across the deck to Iwaizumi and Kuroo.

“Iwa-chan, we need to talk,” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest with a particularly cold gust of wind.

Iwaizumi turns and grins at him. _Again_ , really? His smile is warm and bright in the golden lamplight. The Captain looks so sincere that it catches Oikawa off guard. Iwaizumi waves dismissively at Kuroo.

“Sorry Cap’n. Gotta go! See you tomorrow, that’s the best damn rum I’ve had in years!” Iwaizumi says cheerfully, slinging a heavy, muscular arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. Kuroo grins at them and wiggles his fingers playfully in response.

“Always a pleasure, Cap! Keep your pistols loaded and a wary eye open! I’ll be at the helm until morning, so enjoy the accommodations!”

“What’s that about?” Oikawa asks, feeling strangely self-conscious as he leads Iwaizumi across the deck. The Captain’s breath is hot and bitter on his neck.

“It’s possible that we’re heading into a trap, but this is our only lead, so we have no choice but to follow up on it,” Iwaizumi says frankly. Oikawa shudders at the proximity of his chapped lips to skin.

“What did you need to talk about?” the Captain asks as they reach the mess hall, which has already been mostly cleaned. He rests even more weight on Oikawa. Now that the ships are moving again, the floor rolls gently beneath their feet as they cut across the bay.

“Let’s wait until we get to the cabin,” Oikawa huffs, impatient to return, “Iwaaa-chan you’re heavy.”

“Ah, the door to the left,” Iwaizumi mumbles once they get into the hallway, “It’s Kenma-san’s cabin, he won’t be needing it tonight since he’ll be helping them navigate the bay.”

“Kenma’s?” the siren frowns as they stumble inside.

The room is much more heavily furnished than Iwaizumi’s. The bed is joined to the wall by an ornately carved mantle of gray-stained wood. Curling leaves and the caricatures of strange ocean creatures peering up from below choppy waves are carefully hewn from the fine-grained birch. The floor is marred by spots of wax, presumably originating from one of the unusually numerous candle holders with half-used blue and white tapers. In addition to the bed frame, the desk is also extremely ornate, with clawed feet and a thin marble surface. It is occupied by a variety of curious brass instruments, presumably for use as navigational tools. Whatever maps or weapons that there may be are hidden from view.

The remainder of the room is draped in large banners of pale silk, swirling with patterns like stars and ripples and lace. Their colors are reminiscent of the desert sky an hour after sunrise, faint dove grays and dusty roses. Many drip fringes of tassels that leave dancing shadows on the walls as the boat sways. A beautiful clock with gold-tipped hands and a face painted like the moon is carefully secured to the wall. It’s steady ticking is a small comfort as the first few lashing sprays of rain hit the windows. Outside the darkness is nearly impenetrable.

“Now this is the kind of room a person ought to expect from a pirate,” Oikawa chirps to hide his unease.

He supposes that it is better to know his enemy, if that’s what Kenma is at all.

With a few lurching steps, Oikawa heaves Iwaizumi onto the bed and sits down to wiggle off his boots and coat. Although he doesn’t feel particularly tired and his mind is churning, he is eager to get out of his tight clothes. Despite the unquestionable fact that he looks amazing, the siren is still more comfortable in less, especially considering that he’s not particularly used to wearing anything at all. Still, he is careful to fold his things neatly by the bed.

He turns towards Iwaizumi who has yet to move a muscle, and is staring out of focus at the ceiling with a small frown.

“Hey,” Oikawa says seriously, “Come on, I have to tell you something important.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother muffling a laugh, and Oikawa loses his breath momentarily at the crinkle around his eyes, and that loose, carefree grin.

“Iwa-chaan,” he whines, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“You’re pouting.” Iwaizumi chuckles, grabbing one of the bed posts to lift himself, “Alright, what is it?”

“Kenma- their navigator-” Oikawa says, “He’s like me. From the sea, you call us sirens.”

Iwaizumi’s smile melts and Oikawa wants nothing more than to bring it back, but he _can’t_ because this is _important_.

“I can’t imagine why you would lie about that,” Iwaizumi replies, considerably sobered up. His lack of faith _hurts_ but Oikawa knows that they still have no reason to trust each other. Even if he wants them to be something more than this fragile alliance supports, he still has yet to prove himself a reliable companion.

“Is he dangerous?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Am I?” Oikawa asks seriously, meeting the Captain’s eyes and holding them. Iwaizumi’s eyes are dark, and he feels like he’s staring down the barrels of a twin pair of loaded pistols. Adrenaline slams through his chest and his heart picks up its beat. Whether it’s out of fear or something else, Oikawa has yet to unravel.

“More than you know,” Iwaizumi mutters, without looking away, “And for none of the reasons that I expected.”

He turns away and laughs, but it sounds dry, like fire wood snapping. Oikawa flinches.

“Anyway, what’s to be done? If Kuroo trusts him, then there’s nothing else to it for now. I know that he wouldn’t have put his faith in someone unreliable. It’s important that we all work together at the moment, since we share a common goal,” Iwaizumi says, flopping back down onto the bed.

“Would you ever trust me like Kuroo-chan trusts his navigator?” Oikawa asks petulantly.

“That’s a double-edged blade. Would _you_ ever trust me like Kozume-san trusts his captain?” Iwaizumi mumbles, “I want to trust you. But I’m responsible for more lives than just my own. My actions affect my entire crew.”

“Oh Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs heavily, “Are you always so honest after having too much rum? Who knew that the secret to having a conversation with you was getting you drunk?”

Iwaizumi rolls onto his stomach with a grumble, feet dangling off of the end of the bed and kicks off his boots. 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he adds once he sits again to shuck his coat and stockings.

Oikawa doesn’t need to be asked twice.

-

Iwaizumi wakes up in the middle of the night to a bright flash of lightning and the roar of wind outside. He presses a palm against the panes of the small window right beside the bed and finds it to be cold. His hand leaves a ghostly outline of steam on the glass as he shifts closer to try to see anything. An unexpectedly loud boom of thunder sounds like cannonfire and Iwaizumi lurches away from the window as another flash of light illuminates a nearby coast. The trees are thrashing in the wind and rain hisses from the sky and hits the churning water with such force that it leaves spinning phantoms of mist writhing atop the waves, swallowed as soon as they are formed by the crash of breakers.

Iwaizumi shuffles away from the window, tucking his cold, clammy hand back beneath the covers, where warmth is abundant. The ship seems to have stopped moving, so perhaps the storms have forced them to seek shelter in an inlet somewhere. He flinches at another sudden burst of thunder and accidentally elbows something warm and quiet behind him. He hears a muffled, sleepy noise and panics.

For a moment he can’t reconcile where he is with the fact that there’s someone in bed with him. Who the hell could it be? Certainly not Kenma, and he would _never_ leave himself so vulnerable next to- Oikawa? _Would he_? He scowls into the darkness beside him, and reaches out nervously, aiming for hair or some similarly recognizable feature. And accidentally hits the person who he strongly suspects is Oikawa on the nose with much more force than he expected.

“Iwa-chan?” the siren mumbles groggily, “What the hell are you-”

Iwaizumi gropes downwards and clamps his hand over the siren’s mouth with sudden fervor, ignoring the tickle as Oikawa continues trying to talk, and jumping out of the covers to pin him down. His heart races and fighting instinct kicks in as he desperately tries to remember how he got into this situation. Sure he had been a little tipsy, but _surely_ not enough to let _Oikawa_ into his bed.

“ _How did you get in here_?” Iwaizumi hisses.

He jerks his hand away from Oikawa’s face with a yelp.

“Maybe if let me _talk_! What are you, Iwa-chan a bear? Anyway, I didn’t hurt you, did I? As if I would ever attack someone asleep, and drunk! Like some kind of honorless thief! But I guess you’re all shoot first and ask questions later,” Oikawa snaps, voice still gritty from sleep.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi mumbles, pulling his hands away to scrub wearily at his face. Whatever time it is, is definitely too early for this nonsense, “Sorry, I was startled. It’s not your fault.”

He sits there for a moment in silence, trying to collect his scrambled thoughts, but his mind is buzzing with adrenaline, and it’s like trying to catch butterflies with his bare hands. The first fluttering realization that settles in his stomach is that his fingers are still tingling from where he had been pressing Oikawa’s mouth shut. He can still feel the outline of Oikawa’s cool, soft skin on his palms. It’s annoying. The second butterfly lodges itself somewhere in his solar plexus, beating wings stirring up his blood. He feels heat rising in his chest as he realizes that he’s just casually sitting on top of the siren like it’s an everyday occurrence. The fact that he can feel the sharp point of Oikawa’s hip bones beneath his thighs, or the pull of muscle as he shifts sends a cold shock travelling down his spine and he hastily swings himself off of Oikawa.

He knows what this is and he refuses it.

 _You can’t fight a force of nature_ , whispers a voice inside of Iwaizumi’s head. 

He’s still treading softly on the edges of a faint buzz, mouth warm and dry. His heart throbs as the thunder rolls, as though he too is full of lightning and the echoes of wind. Whispered words howl through the trees and across his skin. A chill runs down his spine. Oikawa’s face is dipped in shadow, but a brief flash of lightning lines his features in molten silver. His eyelashes, suddenly sketched in white seem to sear his skin, and Iwaizumi tastes smoke. The air is crisp with the rising storm. The siren’s eyes are dark like bottle glass, shattered and softened by the tireless roll of the sea. Iwaizumi can’t look away, it feels like he is staring into a whirlpool. Indeed, Oikawa has the same sense of overwhelming power and inescapable beauty. This time, he has no desire to avoid the oncoming disaster. 

Iwaizumi wonders what the voice of a siren would sound like completely wrecked. He wonders if the gasps would drift out of Oikawa’s swollen lips in a sweet tune, or if he could twist them into something more like a whine. He wonders why he thinks of such things at all. Maybe it’s the way that Oikawa looks standing on deck with the wind whipping his hair out of his face, and his face warm and cheeks pink, as he smiles secretly, unconsciously, as he watches the birds wheel over the shore. Or it could simply be the way that Iwaizumi keeps dreaming of the siren flashing silver fins, arms full of primroses, their petals dripping into the calm water as their stems crush and tangle between his hands. Iwaizumi suspects that it’s some combination of all of these things. He’s not happy about it, exactly, but like a force of nature, he just can’t seem to fight the feelings that are kindling between his ribs, or the soft, sweet ghost of smoke that touches his tongue as his walls begin to crumble like ash.

“Is it really okay?” he murmurs out loud, although it sounds more like a final plea. It is a prayer dedicated to the wind that tosses the caravel on waves that shatter and shine like obsidian.

Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, curious and accepting, expression open.

“Iwa-chan, don’t ask such silly questions.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” Iwaizumi accuses.

“Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.”

“Don’t give me generic advice, you’re ruining the moment,” the Captain says, rolling his eyes.

Still groggy from sleep, the siren gives Iwaizumi a smile of shocking sincerity that leaves Iwaizumi feeling both breathless and childish. 

Iwaizumi can’t resist the fire that burns his mouth until he stops holding it back and leans in to give Oikawa a kiss that burns like coals. Up close the siren smells like the sea and sweet olives, cool and soft. Awkward at first, they bump noses, but Iwaizumi adjusts and everything seems to fall into place. Even if it’s just for a moment. Oikawa gives a contented little hum, and Iwaizumi presses forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your awesomeness and patience here's another chapter (quickly for once)! FINALLY things are happening! Anyways SERIOUSLY thank you all so much for the support, literally every comment makes me roll around in the clouds for hours!! (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)


	7. The Haunting Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats nervously*  
> warning for sort of graphic bloodshed in between the third break and the paragraph starting with 'Long black hair...'

Tooru dipped his fingers in the lacy edge of foam that curled around the polished stone he was reclining on. The water was dark beneath the velvety night sky and reflected the moon like shattered glass. Bruised flower petals blown in from the vines on the rocky cliff twirled like dancers on a vast satin stage. When Kiyoko popped out of the water to his left, the crushed pink buds were tangled in her silky black hair. Stray petals stuck to her pale, slim shoulders as she hummed, heaving herself onto the rock beside her betrothed.

“The currents are almost right, I’d guess we only have another two weeks of pretending before we can get out of here forever,” she says quietly.

Tooru watches her slender fingers as she coils up her damp, heavy hair and stacks it on top of her head, secured by shells fashioned into sharp pins. Water trails down her back and her scales, black and shimmering, reflect the stars. She looks like everything Tooru isn’t. Royalty. The perfectly composed, delicately trained heir to a precarious throne, prepared for this fate since she was nothing more than a tiny fry bobbing in her parents’ wake. But Tooru knows that she is as good an actor as he is, and soon they will both be carving out their own futures separate from the unsteady power of their families.

She sees him watching and favors him with a small, hidden smile. Later he will guard the memory in his heart and it feels like the revelation of something precious, like when he dipped below the waves after trading breath for water the first time. The first time that he saw the sky and Kiyoko’s last true smile. And now, perhaps, the haunting burn of gray eyes.

At the time, the importance of the moment had not been such a heavy weight on his shoulders. Kiyoko had smiled and Tooru wrinkled his nose and flicked water at her to disguise the way that her smile made his heart twist. Of course, she hadn’t been fooled. She flipped her fins, splashing him in the face. He had blinked and her hands were on his face. Slowly, cautiously, he sat up to meet her eyes. They were full of the same dangerous, shadowed energy as sharks circling in the cloudy deep.

“Tooru,” she said sternly, and he blinked in surprise, “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be free. We’re finally gonna be free.”

He saw the nervous twist of her mouth that meant she was trying her hardest not to chew the inside of her cheek as she pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead. He gave her a watery smile and patted her face. Sometimes he wished more than anything that he could only love her in the right way. That he wouldn’t have to flee his own family to escape an arranged marriage and violent reign. But she would never be anything more than a beloved friend and confidant. And he would never be anything more than what he was now, an estranged prince. 

-

Tooru dreams of blood. Black and inky, it drapes across the submerged stones like a parade of funeral veils, a shadowy trail along the shattered, mumbling white coast, where the tides roll against towering, pillars of chalky stone. Eddies of cold gray foam whisper mournful, frantic prayers as they twist and writhe, shredding through the dark shroud of siren blood. The shore glitters with tiny, chipped black scales, deposited gently in the sand.

A cold, bone-aching hunger swells within his chest as he presses numb fingers against the rock. But this hunger cannot be sated by any prey. A miserable, twisted song burns in his lungs like poison, its notes sit heavy on his lips.

The next time he sees a sailor he doesn’t bother to hide. The stones, sharp and crooked rim the coast like broken teeth. They are silent witnesses as he rises out of a violent burst of spray that breaks frothing and hissing around the pockmarked rock he clutches. The first sounds that leave his mouth are a broken, agonizing keen. He doesn’t spare his prey the time to be surprised before the man is forced to his knees. The wind wails across the short brush and gulls wheel above, a mad, chattering audience to the sailor’s merciless death.

The taste of the man’s blood is bitter and Tooru cannot wash the flavor out of his mouth for days to come. His heart remains heavy, like a cracked vessel at the bottom of the sea, long unseen, no longer graced by the fleeting presence of light. He haunts the coast like an escaped nightmare until the locals board up their windows at night, and the fishermen are too frightened to touch the water. Kiyoko does not appear despite his best efforts to lay an easy path of terrifying rumors for her to follow back to him, should she have survived.

He assumes that the sailors killed her.

-

The memory of her face, torn in agony and determination torments him. Is he imagining it or can he taste blood in his mouth? Sour and hot. Not human blood, but siren blood, staining the water black like ink. _She_ screams and it echoes in his ears, heart jumping in his chest and beating like a trapped school of fish against his ribs, mindlessly seeking escape. The blackened water that smacks at the small, sharp jetty of stone sparkles with broken scales. To her credit, her arms do not shake as she lifts the pistol, even as her lips quiver and Oikawa yells.

_”Tooru, go!”_ she screams, eyes burning.

A gunshot. A wisp of smoke. The arms around him loosen and she sinks to her knees, legs pale and ringed with stripes of thick, dark blood. Tattered ribbons of skin fletched with tight, fine scales stick to her thighs. The unthinkable, her transition between forms forced by the intensity of willpower alone. The flesh of her tail ripping as her bony legs tear out. Her tail alone was not enough to support her. Not enough to protect him. Her dark hair sticks to her straining neck as she shudders and the gleam fades quickly from her eyes, their brightness crushed by pain. A gust of wind slams a wave against the rock and it sucks her back into the water with it. For the first time, Tooru curses the sea. He struggles in the net that ensnares his arms and gurgles curses along the surface of the water. Curses the oceans that they may dry up, baked beneath an unforgiving sun and scattered with shells and the bloated, flattened bodies of all of the lost things that sleep in the depths. He curses himself, that he may never forget the sacrifice that she made for his survival. Whenever the tides pull he will remember her face. Not as it is now, but as it was when she was at her most beautiful.

Long black hair spilled like ink around her. Seal gray eyes, equal parts warm and keen. Her face beneath the waves, dappled light from the fat full moon flickering silver across her skin. A rare, sudden smile and bubbling, quiet laughter, the current wreathing them in cold foam and streams of bubbles. He had loved her, and she him. But neither loved the other in the way that his parents had wanted them too. So Oikawa made the selfish decision to escape his worries rather than face them. And it was she who had paid the price for his folly.

They sought shelter in the shallows of unfamiliar shores where the tribe would not dare to follow out of fear of humans. Oikawa had been exploring the base of a chalky cliff, when he became tangled in a net. The sailors who had pulled him in had not been like Iwaizumi. If she hadn’t slammed one man into the water, tripping the other and toppling their boat, they would have shot Tooru before he had the chance to open his mouth. While he was preoccupied by a pistol to his throat, she had wrestled a gun from the swiftly sinking other man and, unable to get a solid aim slumped against the sharp stones, she had no choice but to force her transformation to save Tooru’s life.

With both sailors dead, it took him days to free himself from the net, which was badly tangled around his delicate fins and the scattered stones beneath the cliffs. During those days he watched the tide suck away all evidence of her from the water as the gulls flocked towards the sparkle of her broken scales, picking at the bloody stones, slick and dark. At first he had yelled at them until his voice became hoarse, splashing and fighting until the water was white from his panicked struggles. By the time that he freed himself her body was nowhere to be found, although he haunted the coast for months, scouring the seafloor for any traces of her, claiming the humans who stumbled unknowingly into his reach. Following the currents south, he had passed new and intriguing villages and towns. Slipping into his other form at night, he lingered sometimes, an eager learner. But he never stayed for long. Not once had he found a trace of her.

He never saw his family again, outside of their stern disapproving faces when he imagined them in the shapes of stone and cloud.  
Restlessly, he followed the inviting howl of the wind wherever it took him. The stars were his only companions, twinkling distantly down at him from above as he floated like driftwood from place to place.

But now, he thinks, surrounded in warmth, perhaps he has reluctantly found a place to settle. He knows this when he looks down at the sunlight playing gently on Iwaizumi’s soft sleeping face and sees neither prey nor vengeance. He sees only small, sharp smiles, and teasing gray eyes, long, dark eyelashes fluttering against sun-kissed skin.

-

In the aftermath of the storm, the _Black Cat_ drifts quietly upstream, each bend in the river bringing the pirates closer to their inevitable confrontation. The sky is hazy and gray, the sun burning white and blurry through a thin, sprawling line of clouds. The low banks of the Black River are scattered with a wash of driftwood and other debris. A fresh layer of sediment laid down by the sudden flush of floodwater lies pristine and unmarked on the low sandbars. Stepping stiffly through the mud are a few strange, long-legged birds, their eyes wide and gold. With sudden, wailing cries, they turn to watch the ship as she passes. It seems like a warning. Oikawa feels uneasy.

He stands at the prow, trying to stay out of the way, a heavy, humid breeze shifting slowly against his skin as he watches the river slide below. Despite it’s name, the Black River is a roiling, turbulent brown, clouds of mud stirred up by the rainfall fanning out below the surface like thick smoke. Compared to the clean, familiar waters of the sea, the river seems strange and unpredictable. It smells different too, boggy and rich with silt. The siren does not recognize either the strange, wading birds or the dark, woody plants with leaning branches that bow and drag along the surface like long, crooked fingers. He glances over to where Iwaizumi is huddled over some sort of chart next to Kuroo and frowns softly. He chews his bottom lip. Yet again, he feels bound by his own powerlessness.

It reminds him of the last time he tried to escape his fate.

Coming up the Black River and leaving the sea feels like he’s leaving Kiyoko behind, and he feels a twinge of nausea.

He sighs into the wind, “You were always the smart one. You always knew what to do. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Who’s that?” says a voice at his elbow and Oikawa jumps.

“Iwa-chan! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He chides with a small smile. “Anyway, just talking to my… something of a… spiritual advisor, you might say.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, but he seems too preoccupied to give it much though. “Ah. It won’t be long now until we run into our target,” he says with a thoughtful pause, “Once this is over maybe I’ll teach you some basic knife fighting skills. But for now, you’re a liability. Stay close, where I can protect you. And don’t use the song. Whatever you do.”

“Do you think that Kuroo-chan is so strict with Kenma-san?”

“No, but I’m sure Kenma-san isn’t completely useless in combat situations.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at Oikawa’s affronted expression. “I mean you’ve only had legs for what… a week?”

“Don’t presume that this is the first time that I’ve walked on two feet,” Oikawa replies cooly.

Memories of strolling soaking wet into small villages and charming his way into dry clothes and a warm meal come to mind. Brief flirtations with delightful, short-lived strangers. As educational as those exploits had been, the sudden sharp jolts around his heart when he meets Iwa-chan’s eyes are the first of their kind. Ever since last night it’s gotten worse. He gets goosebumps like he’s rising into the wind out of warm water, hands aching to reach out and grasp the Captain. He wants to explore further, but after all that he’s said, it would be understandable if Iwaizumi never trusts him fully. The original desire is confused now, all tangled up with something else entirely.

“We’ll be heading back to the open seas soon, right?” Oikawa asks, “Being this far inland makes me feel uncomfortable. Dulls the senses.”

“Yep. This should be a fairly quick fight. The cargo ship won’t equipped for a long battle. They’ll lose all of their goods if they try,” Iwaizumi replies.

“Doesn’t it make you wonder why they’re carrying such a precious map if they can’t even properly protect it?”

Iwaizumi frowns. “I’m afraid that’s where the concern about an ambush comes from. It would be just like the Queen’s Guard to let us sack the ship and spend our ammunition, since the company’s been a thorn in the Queen’s side. Once we take the map, they may very well have loaded the forest with firepower. We can’t outrun them in such a tight channel. But it would be too difficult for them to get cannons or anything big through the hills, so we’ll have the edge on them there. If that’s their strategy, I imagine that they’ll be trying to eliminate our crew and board us to steal the map back, so they’ll also have to be careful not to do too much damage to the ship.”

Oikawa feels a frown pulling at his mouth. The river winds sinuously out ahead of them, snakelike, fighting them as they push ahead. He can sense it dully, like he senses the sea. It feels like it doesn’t want them here.

-

They find the cargo ship around a bend where the river is aflame with golden light, flickering and dancing against their hull. They slide slowly into what seems like the unmade bed of the rising sun, bristling with cannons and rifles. A hush falls over the crew. Oikawa knows that the cannons are mostly for show. By this point the river is too narrow for them to turn enough to aim at the other ship. They’ll have to arm themselves to the teeth and hope to do most of the damage after they board.

Iwaizumi stands at his shoulder and when he turns to look, the Captain is already watching him, spine stiff with grim determination. Meeting Oikawa’s eyes he flashes him a dangerous smile. Oikawa feels suddenly as though the shifting weight of the entire ocean is pressing the air out of his lungs. He wonders if, out of the two of them, Iwaizumi might be just as dangerous. It’s the kind of smile that fresh young faces wouldn’t hesitate to die for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I tried to write this chapter probably 10 times and almost gave up. I still love this au so damn much why is it so hard to write help me.
> 
> If anyone still cares about this listen... I love you.  
> :'0


	8. The Lace-gloved Map

Victory was in the air, but her voice was that of the whistle and crack of lead speeding through the air, and Tooru could not claim to comprehend who she favored. The deck of the cargo cruiser was splintered in places, and the scuffed wood gave periodic weak groans beneath their boots like a restless fever victim, tossing above the shuddering waves, cloudy with silt, that were stirred up against the current, folding messily against the prow. The river was filled with a grave fury, a sleeping beast roused from its long, deep slumber by the frenzied boom and clatter of fighting men, it seemed determined not to cooperate. The channel was too narrow and shallow in all of the worst places. Although Kenma seemed to be an expert navigator, even he struggled to maintain their position in the outer edge of the meander where the current gurgled angrily against their hull as they faced the merchant ship.

Time seemed to be operating somewhat differently in the heat of the battle, marked only by the constant and deafening boom of Tooru’s heartbeat thundering in his ears, perilous proof that he was still alive, although it offered him no reassurance. He watched a sailor crumple against the dusty rail, bloodlessly incapacitated by one of Kuroo’s men. Iwaizumi was at his back, urging him forward. His eyes flashed with an alarming intensity beneath the brim of his hat, and his mouth was twisted into a tight expression of determination. In his left hand he held an axe, and in the right a cutlass. The air had the soft, sour bite of gunsmoke when Tooru was shocked into remembering to breath by an unexpected, tense smile from the Captain.

Oikawa had seen fights before from a distance, and the clans of the sea were rarely ever at peace with one another, wars beneath the waves were often decades long and brutal, but this was a different experience entirely. It was a frenzied dance sweeping across the decks to the throbbing clang of metal being struck and voices raw with adrenaline. Cutlasses glinted beneath the pitiless eye of the sun. Thankfully Kuroo’s crew seemed to have the upper hand. The sailors of the merchant ship were strong, but Kuroo’s crew overwhelmed them easily with superior skill and obvious practice. In addition, the boarded vessel was slower and had much less room to maneuver, loaded down as it was with cargo. Morale bruised, and forces already cut to half, it was only a matter of time before their opponents surrendered. 

Hopefully.

Oikawa cast a wary eye at their surroundings. The other pirates had been instructed to keep the fighting out of Captain Iwaizumi’s way so that he and Oikawa could retrieve the map and get back to the  _ Black Cat  _ in as little time as possible. Once the map was in safe hands they were free to do their worst to the rigging and hull, although it was unlikely that the ragged crew of the cargo ship would attempt to chase them.

The plan was going smoothly so far, or rather, it was going as well as could be expected for a plan that involved stepping into the midsts of the enemy and stealing a mysterious treasure map.

Somehow Oikawa couldn’t remember getting inside, but there they were. Iwaizumi shut the door behind them and the sudden muffled sound of the brawl outside only made Oikawa’s frayed control over his breathing that much more obvious. His heart was knocking in his chest like a desperate man fleeing death pounding at a locked door. The darkness of the inside of the ship felt desperately cramped and dusty. Oikawa longed for nothing more than to climb out of the nearest porthole and dive into the river, as cloudy and unfathomable as it may be, but a hand around his arm stopped him. 

“We have to keep moving,” Iwaizumi said, gesturing into the darkness, but he paused and turned to Oikawa to ask, “Are you okay?”

Oikawa breathed deeply. There was the faintest wobble to his voice when he replied. 

“No.” 

It was a fragile, small whisper, and the sound of it, like an eggshell cracking, seemed somehow more alarming to the Captain than the distant sounds of swords meeting.

The strangeness of Oikawa’s trepidation left Iwaizumi feeling rather unsteady. The dark hallway stretched out before them as his eyes sought the faint outline of light around a closed door that might be an officer’s quarters where the map was supposedly hidden. For a moment, the Captain felt quite ridiculous creeping around in the darkness after a possibly nonexistent map to a possibly nonexistent treasure. 

Perhaps it was this fleeting thought spurred on by the siren’s sincerity that prompted Iwaizumi to divulge such an honest response.

“I’m not okay either,” he whispered at the dark wall, squeezing Oikawa’s arm as an afterthought.

The revelation of such a truth, as small as it was and smothered deep in the darkness of the ship’s passageways, felt strangely liberating. A fierce surge of hope extinguished his doubts. With an axe in one hand and Oikawa in the other it was hard to imagine failure. Oikawa gave a startled flinch at the gruff chuckle that followed.

“Ah, sorry,” Iwaizumi apologized, but when he glanced at Oikawa again, it was with a bashful smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sensing anything yet?”

Oikawa slanted a sharp look at him, eyes as dark and wide as tidepools beneath a moonless sky. 

“Iwa-chan told me that I wasn’t allowed to sing, so no,” he said after a moment, voice sulky. “I’ll have to get a lot closer to the map to find it without the song.”

The fact that he was being sulky at all instead of panicked meant that Oikawa was already feeling better. Iwaizumi snorted as they came upon the first door. He rattled the handle. Locked. Disappointing, but not surprising.

“Step back okay, I’m gonna try to get this open,” he said, letting go of Oikawa’s wrist and waving him away. He dutifully ignored how cool and empty the palm of his hand suddenly felt. 

He heaved back the axe and planted it neatly alongside the doorknob. Wood cracked and when he pulled away, Iwaizumi shook loose a shifting sprinkle of dust and fine splinters. The sound was uncomfortably loud and conspicuous in the muted quiet of the hallway, but anyone within the ship would surely have heard their approach long before now. It only took a few more blows before the Captain could pull away enough shattered fragments of wood to stick his hand through the door and unlock it from the inside. The door swung open with a grating creak.

There was a muffled squeak and faint thump.

Iwaizumi stared, speechless. Oikawa blinked, a shadowy presence shifting behind his Captain’s broad shoulders like a wraith. The girl in the room, pointing a cutlass at them and with eyes as round as copper coins, her pale hands trembling in her delicate lace gloves, froze. 

Oikawa stepped closer and inhaled suddenly. “Oh!”

Giving Iwaizumi’s shirtsleeve an urgent tug, he stepped into the small, dimly lit room.

“She has it,” the siren said softly, a curious edge to his voice. He watched the girl in the way that a crocodile watches a gazelle from the edge of a watering hole, waiting for the first fatal stumble.

Iwaizumi regarded her calmly. She was backed up against the far wall like a cornered animal, which only one of many signs that the had no experience with combat (the Captain had learned early in his career not to judge a woman based solely off of the measure of her skirts, a lesson which he had learned at the cost of a neat little scar alongside his collarbone). This girl however, had already made a terrible mistake in putting herself in a position that she could not easily maneuver out of, especially considering that she was outnumbered. Also, she was holding the cutlass sideways, and it quivered so much in her hand that Iwaizumi worried briefly that she might drop it and hurt herself. A few soft, wheat gold curls spilled loosely from the high pins that held her halo of flaxen hair in place. She wore a wool riding habit for her journey, which was plain and serviceable, made for travel, but its expense was clear from its perfect fit, and soft, clear colors. Her velvet collar was slightly rumpled and the buttons of her jacket dull. Iwaizumi attributed this to the length of her time at sea rather than any lack of means. She shrunk beneath his calculating gaze, but her doe-like eyes were not devoid of fire.

Having assessed her to be not much of a threat, he stepped forward, only to have her rattle the cutlass clumsily in his direction.

“U-Um, excuse me but please don’t come any closer or, I-I’ll have no choice but to hurt you-” she stammered somewhat breathlessly.

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Iwaizumi, who set down his axe and lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

“ _ I didn’t even  _ want _ to go to stay with Aunt Lucy! _ ” the girl exclaimed suddenly without provocation, surprisingly vigorous, “No one ever asked what I thought about this journey! It was always  _ ladies must be seen not heard _ , Hitoka, do as you’re told!” A note of hysteria crept into her voice and she clutched a hand to her chest, as though she too was shocked by the defiant words that had spilled so freely from her. “A-ah! I’m sorry!”

“I’m sure this may seem hard to believe but we have no intentions of hurting you. We just want the map.” Iwaizumi, replied gently.

“Which you have,” Oikawa added.

“O-of the National Treasure you mean?” She paused for a brief moment to look between their faces before continuing with a small sigh. “I am the map. O-or rather, I know the way there, there isn’t an actual, physical chart.”

“What?” Iwaizumi stared blankly at her before looking to Oikawa, who merely shook his head.

“If that’s that then can we leave now? I suppose I don’t have any choice but to go with you.”

Iwaizumi was speechless. “Just like that? You’re coming with us?”

Hitoka wearily dropped the cutlass to the floor with a clatter, “Ah, my arms were getting tired. To answer your question, I don’t suppose I have much of a choice in the matter. This ship is damaged. In this condition it will take her twice the time to make the next port, and when she does, weeks of repairs. By the time that my family have heard the news, who k-knows what will have happened. Besides, you knew of the map.”

The Captain nodded slowly. “Well, in that case I suppose some introductions are in order. My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, I am the captain of the  _ Blue Queen. _ That lanky fellow is Oikawa, my- uh..” He paused doubtfully. “Associate?”

Oikawa’s smile sparkled, “Friend! Iwa-chan don’t be so aloof.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

“Nice to meet you Oikawa-san, Captain Iwaizumi, I am Yachi Hitoka, Lady of Acrochel!” Yachi said, bobbing in a slightly confused curtsey, as though she was still unsure quite how to address them.

“Alright, now we really need to go,” Iwaizumi sighed, beckoning Oikawa to his side once more.

“Are you quite certain that she is who we need,” he murmured, pulling the siren close by his shoulder.

His breath tickled the shell of Oikawa’s ear. “I know it, Iwa-chan.”

“I trust you,” Iwaizumi replied, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It was clear that what this meant was:  _ I trust you in this case but not not implicitly.  _ It felt like a test. Somehow, despite the Captain’s reluctance, his words set off a spark and crackle like gunpowder in Oikawa’s chest. His heartbeat was like the ticking of a bomb, suddenly loud again and echoing throughout his entire body.

Iwaizumi stepped back, “Oikawa, you first, take this cutlass, Yachi-san you’ll be in the middle. I’ll be in the back, stay close.”

And then they were passing back through the dark, shuttered dimness of the hallway and returning to the wild clamor of the decks. Bringing up the rear, Iwaizumi could see his two charges stepping out into a blinding flare of brightness that swelled through the open doorway, swallowing them briefly in a baptism of angelic light. A crisp breeze tousled Oikawa’s hair and tugged gently at Yachi’s soft curls. Her skirts ruffled loudly as she lifted a hand to shield her brow and gaze out across the river. A flock of white birds unfurled overhead, their wing beats a steady murmur against the porcelain sky, undisturbed by the chaos transpiring below. Oikawa looked briefly radiant as the sun shone upon his skin with all of the tenderness of the morning dawning upon a flower bud that has opened for the first time, his loose sleeves flapping slightly in the wind, his eyes unfathomable, gleaming golden.

The wash of light faded, but Oikawa’s illusion remained. The Captain frowned.

Fortunately, in the time that they had been gone, the fighting had subsided. Most of the cargo ship’s crew had surrendered and were kneeling at swordpoint, while the rest of Kuroo’s men were hacking at the rigging and ropes in an attempt to further disable the ship from a speedy pursuit. Some of the sails flapped in the eager wind, it would take some time to repair all of the lines. Iwaizumi signaled Yamamoto, who was standing at the mainmast and staring at Yachi with undisguised curiosity.

“We’re done here Second Mate,” the Captain says briefly, with a respectful nod. 

“Aye, Captain,” Yamamoto replies with a feral grin that’s more like a wild dog baring it’s teeth. 

Iwaizumi knows that he’s more bark than bite, Yachi doesn’t, and he watches her respond involuntarily, her hands pressing against her jacket where its double-breasted buttons run up her stomach. Now that he thinks about it, her clothes may be something of a problem. Since the river is too narrow and shallow to run the  _ Black Cat  _ abreast the merchant ship for boarding, it was necessary for them to row to the other vessel and use grappling hooks to scale her sides. He wasn’t entire sure how easy it would be to climb down a ship in large, rich periwinkle skirts and lace gloves. Especially considering how doubtful he was that this small heiress ever had the chance to build her strength up to such a task.

They stood at the rail and Iwaizumi dubiously grabbed the robe and gave it a firm tug. Yachi was peering over the edge with a wide-eyed expression while Oikawa watched her with hawk-like intensity.

“Yachi-san,” the Captain said frankly, “We are going to have to climb down to the rowboats now. I know that this may be somewhat shocking-” he paused reluctantly, “But unless you have some as of this point undiscovered reserves of strength, I’m going to need to carry you down.”

“Iwa-chan, what a gentleman,” Oikawa said. His smile was undecipherable. His eyes as cool as the dusty moon.

He tapped a slender finger to his lips contemplatively, eyes narrowed as though he was fixated on a particularly difficult riddle, it’s answer lost between the endless shift of sun and sand while time whittled the secret down. There were clues, something about the shiver that traveled up his spine when he met Iwaizumi’s eyes, a hum like the sound of the wind over water from a distance. Something about the way he wanted to smile at the Captain’s awkward kindness when he reached out a rough, callused brown hand to the curious, nervous-looking young woman when she wrung and twisted her hands. 

With a tense chuckle, she placed her hand in his, swallowing a breathless yelp as he pulled her close and grumbled an increasingly strained string of apologies as he gripped a hand tight around her waist and lowered them down the side of the ship. Oikawa admiringly watched the hard bunch of the Captain’s muscles as they dropped down into the slightly rocking rowboat. Fortunately the cargo ship was still weighted down and low in the water. Iwaizumi turned to the siren as soon as Yachi was settled and beckoned him over with a brisk gesture. Waving in response, Oikawa was quick to scamper down to his Captain’s side.

Kuroo greeted them with a bow, flourishing his ridiculous hat airily as his crew swarmed over the far railing to reunite with their ship.

“Yachi-san, the pleasure is mine, and welcome aboard the best ship this side of the Middle Sea, the  _ Black Cat!  _ I am her proud Captain, Kuroo Tetsurou at your service! _ ” _

  
Yachi wondered what on earth she had managed to get herself into this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so atm yachi is a bit physically weak but boy she is not willing to just let crazy events pass her by without raising a hand to do something about it, so i hope i managed to express that she's not just a soft little pushover, she's actually really strong-hearted and ready to fight for herself (ง ´ ᵕ `)ง (mostly)!
> 
> also thank you all so much for lovely comments i just want to bake you all cupcakes or something and also i cried multiple times, and those of you reading this too! literally everyone you are amazing and making my day(s)!! :D
> 
> as usual let me know if there are any errors!


	9. The Golden Sunset

Tobio crouched at the crumbling foot of the low stone wall, his palms gritty and his thighs aching as he peered through the hunched old olives, trying to pick up the faint sounds of conversation above the chattering calls of warblers flitting across the hillside. Something about their chuckling, tuneless song, cheerful in its ignorance of the espionage occurring below, seemed vaguely derisive. Or perhaps the hint of mockery was to be found in the snorting of Asterias, Tobio’s horse, restlessly shaking his mane and jerking at his lead. Secured to a particularly gnarled tree lower down the slope where the wall was less weathered, Tobio felt a soft pang of sympathy for his bored mount. The young corporal, much like his horse, preferred taking action to the drudgery of spying like a common criminal while his muscles, primed for the fight, grew stiff and his mind weary. 

He was supposed to be conducting a simple reconnaissance mission to determine the location of the nefarious pirate crew of the _Crow_ , which was rumored to be in league with the infamous _Black Cat_ and her captain. Unfortunately, the task had a rocky start when Tobio’s team of incompetent privates had failed to follow his simple directive (whether out of spite or inexperience Tobio could not decide) to meet at the cabin and safe house of the _Crow’s_ captain. Never one to back down from a challenge however, the young corporal refused to allow such minor complications to hold him back. General Ushijima and the Queen’s Guard were relying on this information after all.

Probably, at least.

No one had actually specified how long the troublesome team was supposed to maintain their position, or what information exactly they were intended to collect.

If his lieutenant was brushing him off due to the recent reprimand implying that Tobio had poor teamwork skills, that was all the more reason to excel on his own, teamwork be damned. If the privates couldn’t keep up then Tobio didn’t need them. He and Asterias could get things done.

He gazed a little sadly over the wall to the cottage. It was a modest place, whitewashed stone planted firmly among the scrappy wildflowers that had found their place decorating the loose, broken stones of the hillside in a flush of red and gold. The doorway, painted as bright as the color of bluebird’s wings, was cracked slightly open as a few young men milled in and out of the house attending to various unknown tasks. Small and dark, the windows revealed little of the interior through the warped panes of thick glass. At the crest of the hill above, a small herd of goats ambled through the grass, nibbling at shrubs and relaxing on a few particularly large slabs of granite to rhythmically chew their cud.

Looking at the peaceful scene it was hard to imagine that the cottage concealed all manner of dangerous criminals plotting to steal the National Treasure. Tobio, needing to stretch before his legs started tingling, shuffled back to Asterias behind the higher stretch of wall and stood straight, brushing the sandy soil from his uniform. He wore fine white breeches and well-worn, silver buttoned fighting boots, both articles now scuffed with dirt. His purple Guardsmen’s jacket with it’s gleaming trim made stealth somewhat difficult, but the Queen’s Guard scorned subtlety. They were known across the land as the most disciplined regiment of fighters under the Imperial Army, lead by General Ushijima himself. The element of surprise was an unnecessary advantage when you were a member of the best group of fighters in the land.

Alone, however, the element of surprise left Tobio at a bit of a disadvantage as there was a sudden flurry of rustling and crunching in the bushes at the wall behind. He suddenly wished that he was wearing something far less conspicuous. Asterias huffed and lifted his head stiffly to sniff at the breeze, ears pricked forward and eyes glinting. One hand on the seal brown steed’s gleaming black shoulder, Tobio stepped softly forward.

A young woman, appearing to be in a great hurry, sprung over the wall without noticing him. She had barely paused to clap the grit off of her hands when she looked up and locked eyes with him. Something about the intensity of her cool gray gaze made the young corporal shiver. It was as though he was suddenly standing at the center of a forest of arrows in the smoke-wreathed clearing of some distant, long-forgotten forest. She straightened, long black hair falling back into place over her shoulders, shivering in the ripple of warm wind that graced her, fluttering the silver lace that trimmed her simple blue gown. One hand flew to the brim of her straw-woven hat, its adornment of fresh pink roses bobbing at the sudden halt of her motion. Her other hand, gloved in black lace, was clutching a slightly wrinkled scroll so tightly that it was crushed in her fist.

There was something undeniably dangerous about her. She responded to the shock of his presence with the calculation and poise of a fighter instead of the bumbling surprise of a typical civilian. Her resolute composure was something that could only come from practice.

She allowed a small smile to slowly spread across her face, which was, Tobio noticed belatedly, astonishingly lovely. There was a small mole on her chin.

With a beguiling tilt to her head, she stepped closer.

“What might the Queen’s Guard be doing in such a humble place as this?” she inquired softly. She had a smooth, refreshing quality of voice that reminded the young corporal of the murmurs of a midnight breeze.

“My horse was weary of the trail and desired a rest,” Tobio replied plainly.

Her eyes burned like comet trails of combusting stardust, blue, green, and gold flashing like gunpowder when the light and shadow struck her at just the right angle. Entranced, Tobio had failed to notice how close she had become, but now she was so near that he could smell her. Sharp and wild like the thundering roll and tumble of the sea beyond distant cliffs. There was something hungry about her expression. Fear coursed through the corporal’s veins.

He stepped back and heard the click of a pistol as it was withdrawn from the garland of roses encircling her hat.

She didn’t speak, but her flintlock, glossy and well-kept, did the threatening without words.

“Name and rank?” she asked.

Tobio’s hands itched to grab his musket, propped against the far wall to even out the fight, but she could shoot him easily before he even took a step in that direction.

“Corporal Kageyama,” Tobia replied numbly.

The woman nodded slowly.

“I hate to do this Corporal, but I’m keeping a tight schedule,” she murmured ruefully before Kageyama felt himself swiftly falling from conciousness.

 

-

 

When he awakened next, he was bound by the arm and leg to a post in the corner of a dim room. Next to him, sitting an armchair and hastily scrawling a note on the back of a loose book page was an unfamiliar young man. 

As Tobio began to move, shuffling uncomfortably against the post, he drew the attention of the other man, who glanced up to stare at him with a face full of freckles and a mess of thick brown hair which was drawn back and tied at the nape of his neck with a yellow ribbon.

“Ah,” the man exclaimed, setting the quill and page on the rough-hewn mantle behind him, “Corporal Kageyama I presume? I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

Kageyama couldn’t imagine a tactical advantage for the man to reveal his full name so soon unless it was a ploy to make the prisoner feel more comfortable, so he scowled angrily in response.

“Tsukki, the Guard is awake,” Yamaguchi called over his shoulder, but a folding paper screen obscured Tobio’s view beyond the empty fireplace and a small, claw-foot desk.

After waiting for a moment during which there was no audible response, Yamaguchi continued, “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, turning back to his prisoner and lifting up the note by way of explanation. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Milk would be nice,” Tobio replied rather sullenly.

With a surprised chuckle Yamaguchi nodded. “You’re in luck.” Seeming to realize the contradiction of circumstance and his statement, however, the man paused, biting his lip. “Well, in this instance, at least. Milk can be arranged.”

As he stood, Tobio was able to get a better look at the stranger. He was dressed in a casual combination of darkly colored clothes and thick work boots, the collar of his shirt loosely tied with a careless sort of charm that was matched by the small bunch of wildflowers tucked and forgotten behind one ear. Around the same height as the young corporal, Yamaguch Tadashi was of a similar build, slender and with the grace of muscle toned in tireless practice. Of this grace he seemed entirely unaware, nearly tripping in his haste to bound around the bed and out the door. Every visible inch of his sun-warmed skin, from his wrists to the nape of his neck, was freckled, like a freshly-sown field with grain.

After Yamguchi disappeared from view, a second figure emerged, spectacles perched haughtily low on the bridge of his nose, so that he had to gaze over their rims with great dissatisfaction every time he looked at Tobio. Additionally irritating was his undeniably impressive height as he folded himself disdainfully into the armchair and began flicking through the pages of a book to pass the time.

Tobio remained silent and soon Yamaguchi had returned. Apparently undeterred by the impassive countenance of the man in the armchair, Yamaguchi beamed radiantly at him in greeting until Tsukki took his leave.

It was with great surprise that Tobio regarded the cold, slightly damp vessel offered him by Yamaguchi’s sturdy, freckled hand.

“Goat’s milk,” Yamaguchi explained, “You should probably drink up, getting knocked in the head isn’t very good for your health, after all.”

There was something horribly vulnerable out of drinking out of someone else’s hand, but the milk was warm and buttery and Tobio couldn’t bring himself to care too much outside of that. 

When Yamaguchi tipped back the cup, Tobio paused to lick the cream from his lips before mumbling, “Thank you.”

Yamaguchi started slightly in surprise, coffee brown eyes wide. “You must be uncomfortable. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

 

-

 

The wind over the docks was warm as the crew of the _Blue Queen_ stood, defiantly alive, with the hot cobblestone street beneath their boots. In Oikawa’s opinion they made a handsome group, standing windswept beneath the golden banners of clouds that heralded the sunset. The pirates were dressed for the landing, polished buttons gleaming and eyes bright as they prepared to become reacquainted with the land. Oikawa could still feel the rocking of the ship beneath his feet even as he stood on solid ground. 

Wafting above the uneven clusters of slanting red roofs and bell towers were the sublime smells of freshly baked bread and grilled meats, rising up from the clutter of street vendors who hawked their delicacies beneath colorful striped canvas. The distant murmur of the city echoed through the dusky streets, beckoning them all. Yachi, who was particularly affected with anticipation, gave her parasol an experimental twirl over her shoulder. The orange and white satin took on a mystical shimmer like the cloth of circus tents, lit from within. The item had been a parting gift from Kuroo, a blade concealed in the hollow handle. With her pink silk skirts and a borrowed, cream pinstripe jacket, Yachi was once more the picture of a perfect lady, although she no longer looked entirely comfortable in the garb of her rich and sheltered past. Somehow the whole ensemble felt like an elaborate costume, even as the buckles of her shoes were buffed to a lethal shine.

Noticing her fidgeting, Oikawa stepped to her side and surveyed the gulls flocking in aimless configurations above the fish markets out on the edge of the wharf. The stands were still bustling with life even as dusk began to prowl through the streets, creeping up from the sea as the sun sank behind the hill, the shadow silhouettes of the crowded horizon drawn up with the tide. Below the canopy of lopsided canvas tarps stretching above the market, blood trickled between the cobblestones. Small drifts of scraped scales glittered on the red-stained pavement. Oikawa fought the bitterness in his mouth and looked away.

“You seem ill at ease,” Oikawa observed as the young woman fidgeted again with the pearl buttons on her jacket.

Yachi glanced up at him in surprise. Her face framed in soft curls, she looked like a poetic vision of an angel or a sylph summoned down from the heavens where she danced upon sunbeams among the golden clouds and lauded the spinning of the skies with a gleaming trumpet. Oikawa blinked. She may seem a strange, otherworldly creature among such a rough crowd, but there was steel in her spine, and her hands were blistered from recent sword practice aboard the _Blue Queen._ Despite her stature, she was not frail.

“The sea has blessed you,” he said thoughtfully, and looking into her eyes, he knew it was true. The hard brown was kissed with the strength of the rolling waves and that turbulent, vital presence which knows both fire and ice with intimacy. “You may see your current path as full of hardships, but you are being tested. Forged as metals are to make a sword. Sometimes you must yield to the current, and you suspect that this makes you weak, but those who cannot bend will break.”

“Oikawa-san,” Yachi began tentatively, “Thank you for the words of encouragement. It’s true that I’ve been feeling a bit uncertain lately.” Here she paused, carefully seeking the best words. “I know it doesn’t mean much.. from me, but I think that the same could be said of you. I’m not sure what led you to be a part of this group, but you must be favored to have found a home here. Although I didn’t trust you at first, and don’t entirely trust you now, I think that your heart is in the right place.”

Shocked, Oikawa lost his gaze in the bustling of the docks. _How could you know_? He killed, and did so with the proper honor and courtesy awarded prey but without remorse, and yet Yachi believed him to have a good heart. Before recently Oikawa himself regarded the heart as little more than an organ to be consumed, its flavor rich and bitter, but exceptionally nutritious. But now his own exceptionally nutritious circulatory organ seems to be malfunctioning in the presence of a certain pirate captain. Oikawa can’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t just be easier to carve the damn thing out of his chest and feed it to Iwaizumi himself. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Makki asked keenly, hands tucked in his waistband.

“My thoughts are worth much more than a penny, Makki,” Oikawa quipped, but in his distraction it came out sharper than he intended.

“What’s got your stockings twisted?” 

“A-ah,” Yachi piped up, “I hope I didn’t overstep, Oikawa-san.”

Makki looked between them with curiosity. Oikawa sighed and shook his head.

“No Yacchan, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just a bit tired I think.“

“Tired already?” Makki exclaimed incredulously, “We’re only in port for two nights, so you’d better make the best of it while we’re here. Tomorrow is all business so we should have some fun while we can.”

“I’ll ask those of you who don’t already know to excercise some healthy caution when Makki gets up to no good. Last time he ‘had fun’ at a port he was chased out of the city half naked on a stolen horse by a squadron of city guards carrying torches,” a gruff voice recounted warmly.

Oikawa’s cursed heart lurched.

Standing there, looking unaccountably regal in a black velvet tailcoat and tall boots, his hair whipped by the wind into an appealing state of dishevelment, was Captain Iwaizumi Hajime himself, hat in hand. The man didn’t look particularly hungry, but he was eating Oikawa alive. The siren pictured it with a grim twist of satisfaction. Tan, sloping shoulders rising out of the frothing crimson bay, waves clapping at his waist. His dark shirt in wet ribbons hanging from strong arms. Blood running down his chin. The hungry, searching shadow of the tides haunting the Captain’s gray eyes as the prey becomes the hunter. Oikawa felt suddenly the keen irony of the situation.

“Where to next, Captain?” he chirped.

“To the inn to get some sleep, as will the rest of you if you have any sense,” Iwaizumi replied sternly.

 “Absolutely scandalous,” Makki sighed dramatically, “With our Captain asleep before the sun who will protect our pirate reputation as lawless troublemakers?”

 Iwaizumi rolled his eyes fondly.

 “Yachi-san, you and Oikawa are with me. I don’t want to risk being on the streets for too long with either of you. Yahaba will be accompanying us back to the inn for additional support, so let’s head out. Anyone else who wants to come with us is welcome.” The Captain placed his hat back on his head as he looked across the assembled faces of his men.

Faint music echoed through the crowded streets. Oikawa could never catch more than a fleeting glance of the musicians through the bustle of dusky skirts and scuffed boots. Still, he thought, human songs had their own charm. They were hearty and imperfect and passionate, a contrast from the silken, expertly honed songs of the sea. The tunes of humans were meant to be shared. The melodies grew and flourished through repetition. It was a treasured thing, a golden spirit that capriciously traveled down human roads, passing from hand to hand, from the fields to the docks to the high imperial courtyards. A glimpse of a brilliant orange sunset woven through reality.

Siren songs were beautiful weapons. An alluring distraction and nothing more. Yet Oikawa wondered if that couldn't be changed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so slow replying to comments (I'll get there I promise). It takes extra time bc i cry for a half hour every time I read one. Seriously ya'll are amazing, ilu.
> 
> This was mostly a set up chapter so I hope it's good!! Lots of different characters are finally showing up, so let me know what you think about that! (Also im dying bc rarepairs so expect some kageyama/yamaguchi) I won't even pretend that I know when the next chapter will be out but hopefully soon!

**Author's Note:**

> ಥ_ಥ  
> there is a depressing lack of Haikyuu!! pirate aus (or there was last time i checked, admittedly a while ago). so i decided to write one! I even came up with a plot and everything, plus it's been super fun so far, so I'm really excited! Anyway, please tell me what you think (if you're so inclined) and feel free to chat with me on tumblr @starcaged about anything you please. This my first Haikyuu!! fic omg.
> 
> i promise there will be more iwaoi to come or I'll be a monkey's uncle.


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